


My Sweetest Downfall

by kiwikero



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angel Louis, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Famous Harry, First Kiss, Fluff, Forbidden Love, French Revolution, Guardian Angels, M/M, Paris (City), Past Character Death, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10649400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: Louis is a retired guardian angel. After the death of his last charge, he became jaded. Humans die—what use is prolonging the inevitable?He's more than happy to forget about humanity altogether until one day, when Louis is pulled from his desk job for a new assignment: protect One Direction's Harry Styles. It doesn't help that there's something about Harry that Louis can't resist, and it's making him question everything he's ever known. Humans are strictly off limits, and breaking that rule means risking everything, but Harry just might be worth it.This is a story about forgiveness and discovery, featuring an angel who wants to be a little more human and a human who is so much more than he seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a literal year to write, and oh what a journey it's been. I could not have done this without the huge amount of support I received from my amazing friends. Thank you so much to my Writing Party pals for cheering me on when I was ready to give up. I also owe endless appreciation to my beta, [Sarah](http://eversincesnl.tumblr.com), and my Britpicker, [KK](http://waytoomanypeopleintheaddisonlee.tumblr.com). They're both a joy to work with and work absolute magic on all of my fics. Also, thank you to Ellie for helping me with the Paris details, Max for the French, and Tin for medical accuracy! Cover art by the wonderful Siva.
> 
> A huge thank you to my artist, [Emmi](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com). I was so excited when she claimed my fic, and she did not disappoint. I love the art she's created, and I hope you'll all stop by tumblr and give her some love.
> 
> All that being said, this fic deals with religious themes as well as the Reign of Terror. Please mind the tags, but I promise a happy ending as always. Also, the religion referenced in the story borrows from Christianity, but isn't meant to be Christianity. I am neither religious nor a history major, so please excuse any mistakes!
> 
> Title comes from "Samson" by Regina Spektor.

The crowd was loud and pulsing as the concert reached its peak. Everyone in attendance was on their feet, yelling out lyrics and clapping along to the deafening boom of the music pouring from the sound system.

Onstage, the three members of One Direction were giving their all: dancing, laughing, leaning out to grasp some of the hands desperately reaching for them.

That was fine—another typical show. At least until Harry decided to climb on top of a railing like a gymnast on a balance beam. Well, minus the balancing.

“He’s gonna break his bloody neck,” a burly man at the edge of the stage muttered to himself, watching as Harry’s arms began to windmill wildly before he stumbled off the bar to relative safety.

Not that he was any more steady on even ground, mind. Only a couple of songs later, he was running full tilt across the stage when he stepped in some water, his heeled boots sliding out from under him and sending him flying to the stage floor with a loud _thump._

The crowd wasn’t bothered, and the other two lads in the band didn’t even stop singing, just carried on as they helped Harry to his feet. He didn’t seem any worse for wear, but that did little to comfort the man responsible for keeping Harry safe.

“That kid has a death wish,” the guard seethed, shaking his head and turning away from the stage, unable to watch Harry nearly break something for the tenth time this concert. “This is not what I signed up for.” Tearing off his headset and handing it to another guard, the man walked off without another word, stomping backstage. He turned a corner and disappeared from sight of the rest of the crew.

Had anyone been in that particular hallway, they would have seen him disappear altogether.

\-----

“Louis? D’you have a minute?”

Louis’ eyes flicked to the door leading into his office, giving the man there what he hoped passed for a withering glance. “No. Go away.”

The man sighed, stepping into the office and leaning against one silvery wall. “I am your boss, you know.”

Huffing, Louis closed the file he was working on to turn his chair toward his superior. “And you never let me forget it,” Louis agreed, taking the opportunity to stretch his arms and legs out. “What do you need, Zayn? _Someone_ gave me a lot of cases to review on a deadline, and I’d quite like to get back to it.”

It was true; there was a mountain of paperwork steadily growing on Louis’ already cluttered desk. He hated case reviews. Hated them. It’s not like there were billions of people in the world for Heaven to keep tabs on, or anything like that.

Zayn moved farther into the office, dropping himself down into the spare chair across from Louis. Once settled, he arched a dark eyebrow at Louis, his amber eyes dancing in the bright office lighting.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Louis couldn’t help the groan that slipped from his mouth. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?” He had good reason—the last proposition Zayn put forth had caused the Ice Age.

“Because you don’t like anything I tell you,” Zayn shot back, looking indignant. He carried on quickly, though, as if his mind had immediately wandered to the same blunder and he wanted to avoid any potential ribbing from his underling. “But you’re going to listen to me anyway, because I really need you to do this. Okay?” Zayn’s eyes remained gentle, but there was steel in his words.

“Fine.” Louis crossed his arms over his chest, suspicious gaze fixed on his boss. “What do you want from me this time?”

The way Zayn hesitated to speak told Louis everything he needed to know.

“No, no way,” Louis said, shaking his head. “I’m retired.”

“You’re not retired, Louis. You just stepped back,” Zayn reasoned. “You’re the best, and it’s a special case, and I need you.”

Louis was fuming. Zayn knew, he _knew_ that Louis had sworn never to take on another human. He’d put in his time, and he was done. Period.

“Boss, I can’t,” Louis tried, leaning forward to look Zayn square in his stupidly perfect face. “You know what happened last time. What if—”

“I know that was a long time ago, and so do you. This kid needs a guardian, Louis. He needs you.”

The tone in Zayn’s voice made it clear that saying no wasn’t an option. Zayn was a good boss, kind and understanding, but at the end of the day his word was final. Louis could fight all he wanted, but if Zayn decided to send him to the moon, he’d have to go or face the consequences.

Still, he didn’t have to be happy about it.

“I’m listening,” Louis said eventually, voice flat.

Satisfied and cautiously relieved, Zayn rattled off the details of the case: Male. Twenty-two. Famous. His previous guardian quit last night, tired of watching the boy nearly break his neck on a daily basis.

Louis wasn’t impressed. “So what’s so special about him? Because to me he sounds like an idiot, and last I checked that didn’t qualify as a special case.” Humans had a word for that kind of stupidity, didn’t they? Darwin’s Law. Survival of the fittest. Maybe this—Louis spared a glance at the file Zayn handed him—Harry Styles was meant to serve as an example to his species.

“That’s classified, I’m afraid,” Zayn replied with a smirk, cutting off Louis’ squawk of outrage with a raised hand. “But I can tell you that between his fans, constant travel, and his daredevil tendencies, he definitely needs our help.”

Heaving a sigh, Louis looked down at the case file again. “And there’s no one else who can do it?” he asked, already resigned to returning to Earth. “Just me?”

“Just you,” Zayn confirmed.

“I start immediately?”

“As soon as you leave the temp worker instructions for finishing your case reviews,” Zayn said with a decisive nod, silky black bangs falling into his face.

Louis turned his chair back to his desk, eyes sweeping over the files and notes and things, less annoying now that he’d be away from them for… How long did humans live? Well, at least forty-some years. The idea of a temp sitting in his chair and using his pens for that long was headache-inducing. Maybe he could hide all the good ones.

“Fine,” Louis said, picking up the stack of papers nearest him and shuffling them together. “But I’m not happy about it.”

“I’d be shocked if you were,” Zayn replied, standing up and turning to leave Louis to prepare. “We won’t need to meet again before you leave, unless you have more questions, but you can check in after you have a chance to get settled.” He regarded Louis for a moment, his face softening. “I think this is going to be exactly what you need, Lou. You’ve always been the best; it’s time you remembered that.”

“I was the best,” Louis replied softly, gripping the folder in his hands more tightly than necessary. “Then I burnt out.”

Zayn’s mouth twitched up at the corner. “We’ll see about that.” Then he was gone in the blink of an eye, off to be a benevolent arsehole to some other unsuspecting peon.

Whoever said ‘sincerity is the way to Heaven’ clearly never had to do all the paperwork.

\-----

Suffice it to say, Earth had changed a fair amount since Louis’ last case.

Sure, he’d been down now and again for work, checking up on other guardians and performing evaluations. That was his job now, and luckily it meant very little time interacting with humans. He liked his desk, and he liked his office. In reality, he didn’t even mind Zayn constantly popping in to remind him of some deadline or another.

Earth was a different story. He’d been so fascinated by it once, so enthralled with all the ways humans have adapted and survived, the things they’ve created to make their brief existence easier and more enjoyable. He’d watched the rise and fall of nations, seen the creation of new technology and the death of entire civilisations.

One death in particular came to mind, and Louis physically shuddered as if the motion would shake the memory away.

Still, his last extended visit to this planet had been a pair of centuries ago, and so much had changed in that time. The bits and pieces he’d glimpsed from the homes and buildings he’d visited as part of his evaluations didn’t hold a candle to the spectacle before him, bright and blinding, the neon glow of signs hovering over the city like a nimbus.

New York City, the latest stop on One Direction’s world tour. The place where he would be meeting Harry for the first time.

“No time like the present,” Louis muttered to himself, stepping out of the shadows and onto the bustling pavement. He blended in well in a charcoal grey suit, looking every bit the businessman on his way to some important meeting or another. It was claustrophobic, the press of bodies against skin he hadn’t quite adjusted to, tight fabric wrapping his body to imprison him further still.

Taking human form wasn’t painful, or even that uncomfortable—bodies worn in Heaven being similar if less confining—but it had always made Louis feel a bit trapped. He longed to stretch his wings, the skin of his back itching as a reminder that they were tucked out of sight just below. Alas, humans tended to get startled when they saw someone with a giant pair of wings walking about, so he’d just have to manage for the time being.

(He would have to find somewhere to sneak off to later, somewhere he could shed his clothing and human form, feel the sunlight warm his body and the breeze dance through his feathers.)

Louis heaved a sigh, looking heavenward with an expression that he hoped Zayn saw, signalling to his boss exactly how unhappy he was with the whole situation. After having gone so long without needing to hide, this time it felt even more oppressive than usual, and Louis wasn’t one to give in without a fuss.

It was going to be a long few decades.

\-----

The concert was, in a word, loud.

Thousands of screaming fans combined with the near-constant music pouring from the speakers was enough to give Louis a headache. Well, if he could get headaches.

Still, the boys of One Direction put on quite the show. Their music was a far cry from the symphonies Louis had enjoyed during his last case, but it was catchy and upbeat, the boys’ voices blending together to carry the lyrics.

Harry, though. Harry was a mess. When he wasn’t balanced precariously on a railing, he was tripping over his own feet (clad in the strangest boots Louis had ever laid eyes on). Louis could see why Harry’s previous guardian had needed to step down; the boy was an accident waiting to happen, and that wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted on your record.

 _Lucky me,_ Louis thought to himself as he slipped backstage, walking past the crew and guards with ease, using his powers to convince anyone who saw him that he belonged there. Not all angels chose to make themselves visible, but for the ones who did, that ability was a necessity.

Harry’s dressing room was easy enough to find, and Louis slipped inside just as the final notes of the last song echoed through the venue. In a few moments, he’d meet Harry face-to-face, and hopefully the lad would be receptive to what Louis had to say.

The dressing room was surprisingly cosy, with draped walls and muted light from flickering candles placed on side tables flanking the sofa. There was a bowl of fresh fruit on the coffee table, and Louis took a seat and helped himself to an apple, enjoying the crunch of the crisp flesh between his teeth, the burst of juice in his mouth. He may not need to eat, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge. What was it the humans said? ‘When in Rome,’ eh?

He’d just managed to chew and swallow that first bite when the door to the dressing room swung open, letting in one Harry Styles. Louis quickly composed himself, leaning back into the sofa cushions, the apple dangling in his hand as he affected an air of nonchalance.

It took a moment for Harry to notice him, shutting the door loudly with the sweat from the night still clinging to his skin. He looked like sin on long, jean-clad legs, his damp hair now pulled into a messy bun and his eyes glowing as adrenaline surged through his veins.

Harry stopped short when his eyes fell on Louis, sucking in a quick breath as his hand reached for his mobile. “Who are you? What do you want?” His voice was deep and rumbling, still commanding attention even without the help of the fancy sound equipment. His eyes were round, and the way he clenched his jaw only emphasised the bone structure he’d been blessed with.

He was the very type of man people used to carve statues of. Louis would know.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Louis replied calmly, doing his best to be soothing. Humans were always a bit upset at first meeting, their very cells seeming to recognise that Louis didn’t belong among them, but most didn’t have an arsenal of very large guards at their disposal. “I just want to talk.”

“Listen, I’m flattered,” Harry replied, walking backward toward the door, hand slowly groping to try and find the knob behind him. “I’m glad you like our music, and I’d be happy to sign something for you, but you can’t just be in here without permission.” His hand finally landed on the knob, though he didn’t turn it straight away.

Louis cocked his head, watching Harry as an amused smile crossed his lips. “Well? What are you waiting for?” he asked, setting the apple down and leaning forward. “Go and get help. Have me thrown out.”

There was a flash of hesitation in Harry’s eyes, enough to convince Louis to keep talking. He stood up, smoothing the lines of his suit, circling Harry carefully like a wolf eyeing its prey. “You’re curious, aren’t you? You know I’m not a fan, and you want to know who I am and what I want from you.” Louis grinned, close enough now to see that Harry’s eyes were a pale green, to see the way his throat worked as he swallowed, to watch the nervous rise and fall of his chest. “Have a seat, Harry. You and I both know you don’t want to call for help.”

There was a heavy pause, but then Harry stepped away from the door, giving Louis a wide berth as he crossed to the couch and settled down at the very edge of a cushion. Smirking, Louis joined him, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa and waiting for the questions to come.

“Who are you?” Harry tried again, eyes roaming Louis’ body as if trying to catalogue his every feature. “What are you doing in my dressing room?”

“My name is Louis. I’ve been sent here to protect you,” Louis replied calmly, patiently. That was always the difficult part, getting humans to accept his existence. It took finesse, and patience, and Louis could be terribly blunt if he didn’t watch himself.

Harry blinked in surprise. “Oh. Are you a lawyer? Am I being sued?”

Louis couldn’t help but chuckle. Of all the reactions, he couldn't say he’d ever received that particular one before. “Not quite, Mr Styles.”

They never liked the part that came next, the part where Louis turned their perception of the world upside down. A select few were receptive, but most were far from it.

Louis had a guess which one Harry would be. He’d really like to ask God what He was thinking when He gave his creation the power of critical thinking.

Then again, the Big Man never gave a straight answer anyway, and usually left Louis more frustrated than he had been beforehand. He was a bit of a prick sometimes, God was.

No sense beating around the bush about it, though. Louis had eternity, sure, but Harry didn’t.

“I’m an angel, Harry. Your guardian angel, more specifically.”

Harry blinked at that, letting the information sink in. “An angel,” he said flatly.

Louis inclined his head in affirmation. There was a beat of silence, and then Harry burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Harry managed, struggling to speak through his laughter. “I’ve heard a lot of stories, but you’re a bit off your rocker, mate.”

Louis just folded his hands in his lap, tilting his head back against the sofa. He’d been through this exact exchange more times than he could count, and he just had to ride it out. Soon the human’s laughter would subside, their disbelief replaced with curiosity, and then acceptance. Zayn like to call it the Stages of Belief. Louis liked to call Zayn a twat.

Eventually, Harry did sober up, his eyes going wide as he took in the calm, collected way that Louis sat next to him. “You aren’t joking, are you?” he asked timidly. “You really think you’re an angel.”

“I am an angel,” Louis replied firmly. “And I’m here to keep you safe.”

Harry tilted his head. “From what, though? Is there, like, a secret hit out on me or something?”

Louis chuckled. “No, Harry. Just because you have a guardian angel doesn’t mean your life is in immediate danger. Everyone needs a bit of help staying on the right path from time to time.” He stood, locking his hands behind his back as he paced around the small room. “You’ve always had an angel, in fact. Just because he never saw fit to introduce himself doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.”

“Do the other guys have angels too?” Harry asked, cautiously allowing himself to believe. “Niall and Liam?”

Louis nodded. “They do. So does your mum, and your sister, and your step-dad. Most of us prefer to keep to the background. But I’m not always very good at working behind the scenes.” He spread his hands out, grinning apologetically.

Harry thought about that for a moment. “You said I used to have a different one. What happened to him?”

Louis returned to the couch, perching on one arm and angling his body toward Harry. “He quit,” he explained simply. No point in sugarcoating it.

“Quit? Why?” Harry looked started at the news. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re a bit high profile, love,” Louis soothed, sliding down from the arm so he could rest a palm on Harry’s thigh. “It wasn’t personal, yeah? It just gets stressful, sometimes, being constantly responsible for someone’s life and making sure they don’t die before their time.” He gave Harry’s leg a gentle squeeze and retracted his hand. “Besides, you didn’t exactly make it easy on him, did you? What with the falling and the mobs of fans and—”

“Okay, I get it,” Harry interrupted. “I’m a walking disaster, I know.” He studied Louis curiously. “So you, what, volunteered? Weren’t you busy being someone else’s angel?”

“I was retired,” Louis snapped, perhaps a bit more harsh than necessary, but he was in no mood to go down that particular road at the moment. “And no, I didn’t volunteer. I was assigned.” He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “Are you about finished with the questions?”

Harry nodded dumbly, looking startled by the sudden bite in Louis’ tone. “Um. Almost?” he said hesitantly, chewing at his bottom lip. “Like, can you prove it?”

Louis sighed. They always wanted proof; no one seemed to have good old _faith_ anymore. “How do you propose I do that? Do you want me to tell you about your mum, Anne? Or your sister Gemma?” He cocked his head. “How about what your childhood bedroom looked like?”

“I’m famous,” Harry replied, huffing out a bitter laugh. “You can find all that on the internet.”

“Fine,” Louis replied icily. “How about that you pray every night for those less fortunate? For your family?”

Harry looked a bit unnerved, but stayed steady. “Everyone prays for those things,” he responded carefully. “Can’t you just, like, show me your wings or something?”

“I can,” Louis said, “but I won’t. Not here, not when someone could walk in at any moment.” He nodded toward the door. “Speaking of, do you have to be here much longer? I’ve had sort a stressful day and I’d really like to make sure you get home safely.”

“Are you coming back to the hotel with me?” Harry asked, going a bit pink. “Listen, there’s– well, people talk, and—”

Louis almost didn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes in time. “No one will see me if I don’t want them to,” Louis explained, trying to sound far more patient than he felt. “And it’s not a sleepover. I’m making sure you get there, that you’re secure, and then I’m going to go decompress because this has been quite a long day for me.”

“No kidding,” Harry muttered in reply. He studied Louis for a moment longer before appearing to make a decision, nodded his head minutely to himself. “Okay. You can escort me back to my hotel. If you’re not who you say you are, other people will be able to see you.” He paused, his brows furrowing and his face pinching as if he’d tasted something sour. “Unless I’ve gone mad and you’re some kind of hallucination.” He shot Louis a distrustful glance. “You aren’t, are you?”

“’Fraid not,” Louis said, biting back a smile at the way the lad’s face seemed to pass through a handful of emotions before settling on one. It wasn’t endearing, it _wasn’t_.

Harry nodded solemnly. “That’s exactly what I’d expect a hallucination to say.”

Louis couldn’t help it; he chuckled. Harry looked first startled and then pleased, as if making Louis laugh had lessened his unease, and they shared a small smile with each other before Harry pushed himself up off the couch and began to gather his things.

As the angel watched, the little smile stayed in place. There was a part, deep down inside him, that missed this: missed being responsible for someone, for getting to know them so well that only their creator knew them better, to take part in the life of God’s earthly children. And this Harry, Louis mused, didn't seem quite so bad. Perhaps this would even end up being beneficial for the both of them. Louis rolled his eyes heavenward, right where he imagined Zayn’s should be, and quirked an eyebrow. He could practically feel Zayn smirking down on him.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, a tired smile on his face. Strands of his bun had escaped and fell around his face, making him look young and soft. Made him look like he was very much in need of Louis’ protection.

Louis gestured toward the door, as if to say _lead the way,_ and they went.

\-----

The hotel Harry and his bandmates were in was big and shiny, made of glass and metal and towering over the street below. Harry’s suite alone was bigger than some multi-family dwellings Louis had been assigned to before, and far more luxurious.

“I can’t believe no one saw you!” Harry crowed, flinging himself backward to land on the king-sized bed. The mattress dutifully accepted his weight, bouncing him slightly upon impact, and Harry stretched himself out with a sigh.

True to his word, Louis had made the trip to the hotel completely undetected. He stayed a couple paces behind Harry as the band loaded into an unmarked black vehicle, sliding in just after the blond one and settling into the seat beside him. Harry kept shooting nervous glances at Louis, but the blond—Niall—paid no mind to the angel.

“I told you, no one will notice me unless I want them to,” Louis reminded him, surveying the room before lowering himself into a plush red armchair. “Otherwise you’d hear about a lot more angels out and about, wouldn’t you?”

Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he worried his lip, considering, the sound of the cogs in his head loud enough that Louis could nearly hear them. “You want to ask more questions?” Louis offered with a sigh, telling himself that at least they’d only have to go through this rigmarole once. Hopefully, this would be Louis’ last time ever, and he could go back to being retired from fieldwork once and for all.

Harry sat up, fidgeting. All the confidence he oozed on stage seemed to have stayed behind at the arena, because the man in front of Louis now looked distinctly unsure in the face of something he didn’t quite understand. Louis understood; even believers had a hard time accepting his existence. Being faced with an ancient and powerful being wasn’t exactly something humans were used to, and the experience was quite overwhelming for them in the beginning.

“My last guardian,” Harry began, sounding nervous as if he might ask the wrong things. “Did I ever meet him?”

“Quite often, I’d say,” Louis mused. “He was your last bodyguard.”

Harry’s eyes looked like they might pop out of his head. “Daryl? Daryl was an angel?”

Louis pursed his lips, eyebrows raised in amusement at Harry’s incredulity. “Yes, he is. Why does that surprise you?”

“I thought angels were, like, beautiful and youthful. Daryl was balding with a beer gut.”

Louis grinned. “Does that mean you think I’m beautiful and youthful?” At Harry’s wide-eyed spluttering, Louis continued. “This is just a body, Harry. You can no more see my true form than you can look at your own soul.” He rubbed at the smooth, pale skin of his arm. “I look close to your age and have a similar accent because that’s familiar to you. If you were from Japan I’d have made myself look and sound Japanese.” He shrugged. “Being confronted with a celestial being is strange enough. We try to make it as comfortable as possible.”

“But I heard Daryl swear!” Harry protested. “And he drank!”

“No fucking way,” Louis replied blandly, relishing in the way Harry’s mouth snapped shut with an audible _click._ “Angels and humans aren’t so different, you know. We have rules and expectations, but we also have personalities and free will. I can make my own decisions, and God expects me to. It would get quite boring up there if we all just lounged on clouds and played harps like you lot seem to think.”

“What’s heaven really like, then?” Harry asked, reclining on the bed sideways so that he was facing Louis, head resting on his propped up arm. His shirt rode up with the change in position, revealing abs that should have been immortalised in marble.

Louis clucked his tongue, shaking his head in reply. “Sorry, love. No spoilers.” At Harry’s crestfallen expression he decided to add: “I can tell you that there is an afterlife, though, and that it’s more than your mind in its current form can comprehend.”

That seemed to satisfy Harry, who nodded. “Okay. Okay, wow.” He looked at Louis almost shyly. “Can I ask one more for the night?”

“Sure, one more,” Louis allowed.

“Who were you assigned to before me? Before your retirement.”

Louis could feel all the muscles in his body tensing up as the words spilled innocently from Harry’s lips. He had expected that question, but not so soon, and it managed to catch him completely off guard.

It’s just, a couple of centuries and it still hadn't gotten easier to think about, to talk about. Louis could still smell the thick tang of blood in the air, see it clotting in the cobblestones all around the Place de la Révolution. He could see a young woman—still just a girl, really—her brown eyes wide with fear, hair falling in wild ringlets around her pale face.

“A girl who lived in Paris in the late 18th century,” Louis said softly, doing everything in his power to keep the tremor from his voice. “Her name was Mélite.”

Harry must have been able to sense the emotion seeping into Louis’ tone, hear the way the words sounded thick and heavy in his usually bright voice, because he pushed himself up to sitting. More hair had slipped out of the elastic to frame his face, dark brown against his alabaster skin—but the eyes currently looking at him, wide and curious, were green instead of brown.

“What happened to her?” Harry asked, his voice pitched low to match Louis’.

 _I failed her,_ Louis thought bitterly, chasing the thoughts away with an urgent shake of his head. “She died. It was a long time ago.” He stood up from the chair, effectively ending the conversation and trying to ignore the moisture gathered in the corners of his eyes. “Get some sleep, Harry. I’ll be around in the morning.”

“Where will you go?” Harry asked, climbing off the bed and grabbing a toiletry bag from his luggage. “Where will you sleep?”

“I don’t need to sleep,” Louis replied, though the thought of letting his mind drift away for a few hours sounded like a welcome respite from the images seemingly seared into his brain. “I’ll probably go for a walk, reacquaint myself with civilisation.” He offered Harry a small, wan smile. “I’m immortal, Harry. Let me do all the worrying, hmm?”

Harry nodded reluctantly, crossing to the washroom with his toiletry bag in one hand and a pair of pyjama bottoms draped over his arm. He stopped just outside the door, turning to look at Louis curiously. “You really are an angel, aren’t you?” he asked, awe slipping into his voice as he regarded his guest with sleepy eyes.

“In the borrowed flesh,” Louis replied cheekily. He nodded toward the bathroom. “Go on, then. I’ll stay until you’re safe in bed; can’t have you slipping and braining yourself on the bath on my first night.”

Harry laughed, low and rumbling, and Louis felt the vice around his chest loosen a tiny amount. Maybe, just maybe, this assignment wouldn’t be so bad after all.

\-----

“What in God’s name were you thinking?”

Louis was wrong; this assignment was going to give him an ulcer. He wasn’t even sure he was capable of getting ulcers, but Harry seemed determine to test the limits of Louis’ human form.

It had been a week, just a week since Louis had introduced himself to Harry, and already he could understand why the lad’s previous angel had thrown in the towel. Already he had witnessed Harry trip over a microphone stand and fall, choke on his tea when Niall made him laugh too hard over breakfast, and get mobbed by a gaggle of girls that Louis was honestly concerned might try to rip Harry limb from limb so they’d each have a souvenir.

And now this.

“I was being careful!” Harry protested hotly. There was nothing of the quiet, shy man from the hotel room anymore. His fists were clenched tightly, jaw working as he ground his teeth together. “I’m not a child, and I don’t need you treating me like one!”

Louis rolled his eyes. “You’re right; you’re not a child. You’re an idiot.” He gestured sharply at Harry’s outfit. “No protective gear, no security… You didn’t even tell anyone where you were going!”

“I was wearing a helmet!” Harry shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, that would do you a lot of good if you were _hit by a bloody car!”_

The morning had started out so nicely. It was their first full day in Los Angeles, a sunny and warm city that Louis would not mind spending more time in. Harry was sleeping off his jet lag, safe in bed, so the angel didn’t see the harm in finding a nice little cafe for breakfast, curious to see if omelettes tasted anything like the ones he remembered. They didn’t, but the meal had been pleasant enough.

Until he was hit with a sharp spike of worry, his body’s way of letting him know that his charge was in danger. He immediately vanished, leaving behind a half-eaten omelette and his freshly refilled tea, only to reappear where Harry was. The singer was speeding down a curvy highway on a motorbike, going what Louis judged to be faster than the speed limit and wearing only a helmet to keep him safe. It was reckless and stupid and Louis was not going to stand for such carelessness, not under his watch. He stood directly in the middle of the lane, able to feel the wind and heat as Harry stopped his bike with a sideways slide just before he would have crashed into the angel. (He wouldn’t have actually made contact, but Harry didn’t need to know that.)

“Look,” Harry said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I know you’re trying to protect me. But I have to be able to live a bit, too.”

Louis held up his hands, palms out. “I understand that. You have decades of idiotic decisions yet to make, but don’t for a second think I won’t be calling you on them.” He scoffed as Harry kicked a rock in annoyance, the little stone skittering across the road and down the steep embankment on the other side. “Harry,” Louis tried again, softening his voice. “I want you to have fun. I want you to live your life to the fullest, and die when you’re meant to with no regrets. But you have to do your part too.” He picked up the helmet from where Harry had tossed it down in annoyance. “Slow down, be careful, and at least let your security team know where you’re going.” He handed the helmet out to Harry. “At least tell _me_ where you’re going, so I can look out for you.”

Frowning, Harry took the black helmet, glancing up at Louis distrustfully. “Don’t you, like, know where I am and what I’m doing all the time?”

“I’m not God, Harry,” Louis explained. “I’m not omnipotent. I can find you if I need or want to, and I’m called to you if you’re in danger, but I never want to feel that call only to have it be too late.” _Never again._

The sincerity in Louis’ voice must have gotten through to Harry, who sighed before fitting the helmet back over his head. “I’m sorry, Louis,” he said. “I’ll be more careful, yeah? Just let me cruise for a bit longer before I head back.”

“That’s all I ask,” Louis said. He watched Harry swing a leg over his motorbike, settle himself into the leather seat and coax the engine to life. He was contemplating transporting himself back to the omelette place when he heard Harry’s low rumble of a voice join the hum of the engine.

“Louis? D’you want to ride along with me?”

And that’s how Louis ended up on a motorbike for the first time in his life, savouring the warm California wind in his hair as Harry expertly navigated the streets, taking them on a circuitous route that eventually ended back at the hotel. It was the freest Louis had ever felt within the confines of his human form. As he clung to Harry’s back, head tilted up toward the sun, Louis thought that he could understand why Harry felt so strongly about this; the fleeting freedom seemed well worth the potential risk.

One Direction had some business to attend to in the afternoon: a radio interview, a photo shoot for a magazine, autographing merchandise for a charity raffle. They had the evening off, though, and nothing early the next day, so Niall brightly suggested they go out for dancing and drinks.

“I suppose you’re coming along?” Harry asked, back in the solitude of his empty hotel room. Well, empty aside from the angel sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Harry deliberate over outfits with a sceptical look on his face.

“Naturally,” Louis replied, observing Harry lay out piece after piece of what was probably quite expensive clothing on the suite’s writing desk. He couldn’t believe how drastically trends had changed, from the fabrics and colours to the fit of trousers and the length of skirts. He had glimpsed them on his brief visits to assess other angels’ performance on the job, but seeing them day to day… He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

Then again, he’d thought that before. The clothing in Mélite’s time had seemed so different than that of Louis’ previous charge, and he’d eventually stopped being surprised at seeing women wearing waistcoats and muted dresses instead of the rich and varied saris he’d grown used to in India during the Mughal Empire.

The fact was, nothing ever stayed the same. Landmarks and buildings, food and fashion; they were as fluid and insignificant as grains of sand in the grand scheme of things, and Louis could see just how small this moment, these people were, in the scope of God’s plan.

But right now, he was Harry’s guardian angel, and that made Harry the most important human in the universe.

Satisfied with his outfit choice, Harry dumped the remaining clothes onto his suitcase in a messy pile and perched himself up on the large cherry desk. He crossed his long, lean legs at the ankles, tilting his head thoughtfully at Louis. “I’ve never gone dancing with someone invisible before.”

“I’m not invisible, first of all,” Louis protested, “and secondly, I will not be dancing.”

“You might as well be invisible if I can’t introduce you to anybody,” Harry argued. “At least the lads could see Daryl. What happens if I start talking to you in the middle of the club? It will look like I’ve gone mad.”

Louis cocked his head to one side. “You want me to meet your bandmates?” he asked, surprised. This was strange to him, interacting so directly with his charge. He rarely made himself known, certainly not on a permanent basis. It was easier to remain behind the scenes, to avoid the barrage of questions and the assumption that Louis could right all their wrongs. “Take it up with God,” he’d say, a bit cross at being held responsible for the awful things in the world when he was quite literally just the messenger.

“Yeah, I think they’d like you,” Harry replied, shrugging like it wasn’t important. “Just seems like you should get to know the people closest to me, if you’re going to be around for the rest of my life and all that.” He ducked his head like he was embarrassed, turning his attention to the mobile phone in his hands.

Something warm and foreign blossomed in Louis’ gut at that, but he brushed it off as a quirk of the human body he was cloaked in. For the briefest of moments, he found himself looking forward to a lifetime of getting to know the person across the room, of seeing him grow and change and succeed and fall in love. Louis was good at his job, the best perhaps, but it had always been just that: a job. He’d never before looked at his duties as a privilege. Even with Mélite, whom he cared for deeply, she was still his assignment.

Then there was Harry Styles, so much a pain in the arse that a seasoned angel gave him up as a lost cause, sat there treating Louis like a companion. Maybe, even, like a friend.

“They can, you know,” Louis said eventually, licking lips that seemed too dry around the words. “Meet me. They can, if you’d like.”

Harry looked up from his mobile, eyes wide and mouth rounded in surprise. “What, really?”

Louis nodded, lifting one leg so that his ankle rested on the opposite knee. “Just like Daryl was your bodyguard, we can come up with a cover story for me if you want my presence to be known.”

“Like a secret agent, wicked,” Harry said, grinning. “Who do we say you are? No offense, but you don’t look like a security guard.”

“Oi,” Louis huffed, affronted. “See if anyone on your security team can wield divine powers and commune with the creator of all of Heaven and Earth, I don’t care how many muscles they have.” He rubbed at the skin of his bicep, the flesh tan and taut over what, in his opinion, was just the right amount of muscle.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Did you pick the way you look, then?” Harry asked, gesturing to his body. “Did it, like, belong to someone else, like in _Supernatural?”_

“I don’t know what _Supernatural_ is,” Louis said dryly, “but this body has never belonged to anyone but me. I had a hand in creating it, but Zayn—my boss—had the final say. I have a few different ones, depending on where in the world I'm assigned, but I’m rather fond of this one.” He was, too. He liked the blue of this body’s eyes, the little constellation of freckles on his left cheek. Louis in human form was barely contained chaos, at best, but he felt slightly less claustrophobic in this body than any other.

Harry, however, made a sour face. “You’re talking about bodies as if they’re just suits,” he said, sounding disgusted.

“Aren’t they, though?” Louis countered. “Just because you only get the one doesn’t make yours any less of an accessory than mine is. The things that make you _you_ are not what’s on the outside, Harry.” He touched his chest. “It’s within you, in your soul.”

Harry laid his palms on his own chest, looking down at where his fingertips were pressing into the fabric of his shirt. “I have a soul,” he murmured, sounding almost awed. He glanced up again, wonder shining in his eyes. “Most of what you’ve told me, it goes along with what I learned in church growing up. Does that mean Christians got it right?”

“No one has gotten it right,” Louis snorted. “Well, not entirely. Every religion has figured out bits and pieces, but they’d all get a lot further if they worked together instead of arguing, for a change.” He shrugged. “Honestly, though, God doesn’t really care what religion you follow. Just be a good person, live the life He gave you as best as you can, and you’ll have a place with Him after your death.”

That seemed to cheer Harry up, as if the knowledge that he had Paradise waiting for him was a comfort in the here and now. And it should be; from glancing at Harry’s file, he was right on track to claim his spot in the kingdom of Heaven. He frowned after a moment, though, meeting Louis’ eyes with searching green ones.

“Were you a human before you were an angel?” he asked quietly, and Louis could hear the unspoken question in the words: _have you ever died?_

“No,” Louis replied, shaking his head. “No, I have been an angel for all my life. Humans don’t become angels when they die.” At Harry’s look of disappointment, Louis prodded, “Why? Were you hoping for some wings?”

Harry shrugged. “Just thought it would be cool to be someone’s guardian angel,” he said. “But I guess I’ll have to settle for actually getting to meet mine.”

“Speaking of,” Louis said, stealing a glance at the alarm clock glowing red on the bedside table, “You’re meeting your mates in approximately twenty minutes and we still don’t have a cover for me figured out.” He tapped his head. “We need to think of something believable, and soon.”

Harry looked stricken, then smiled slyly. “We could always say that you’re a fanboy,” he offered, snickering.

Louis threw a pillow at him.

\-----

The club was dark and loud, the heavy bass seeming to shake the blood in Louis’ veins. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, and his senses were overwhelmed despite being dulled by human eyes and ears. Niall was nowhere to be seen, having bee-lined for the bar the second they got into the VIP area, and Liam was cosied up to his girlfriend in a round booth. Harry, though, was standing in front of Louis with his arms crossed and his lower lip stuck out.

“Come on, Louis! Live a little!”

Louis sighed, thinking he should have just waited for Harry back at the hotel after all. “I have lived quite a lot, thank you,” Louis informed him. “Millennia, even. And in none of them did I dance.” Well, that was a bit of a lie. He’d shown himself to Mélite a couple of times in her life, including once when she was five years old and begged for a dance from her _ami imaginaire._ He’d obliged, letting her rest her little feet on his as he spun her around. She was so young, so full of potential.

She’d died before her sixteenth birthday.

Harry was having none of it. “You’d never ridden a motorbike before either,” he pointed out. “Look how much you enjoyed that.”

And that was true; the motorbike had been thrilling in a way that not a lot of sensations on Earth were to an immortal being. Louis longed to go for another ride, perhaps to let his wings free and feel the wind ruffling through the silver feathers. But still, that was far more appropriate behaviour than what Harry was suggesting, and Louis had to draw a line somewhere.

“Louis,” Harry said sternly, arms crossed and jaw set. His hair fell around his face in messy waves, his cheeks flushed from the few drinks he’d had at dinner. He didn’t look the least bit threatening. “No one is going to believe that you’re an old friend of mine if you act like such a stick in the mud.”

Louis scoffed. “I’m not a stick in the mud. I’m an angel. I have a sense of decorum that I’m expected to uphold.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Are you this much fun in Heaven too?” A laugh bubbled forth at Louis’ silence. “Oh my God, you are, aren’t you? I bet you follow all of the rules and never do anything the least bit fun.”

“That’s because I spend my time doing paperwork,” Louis said bitterly. “We can’t all have jobs that allow us time to party and play, popstar.”

“I think you have time right now, actually,” Harry said, grinning wickedly. The green lights flickering around the club illuminated his face, deepening the shadow in his dimple. “Come on, you’re all dressed up and everything.”

That was true; Louis, a bit mystified as to what counted as appropriate club attire, had borrowed Harry’s iPad and scrolled through the internet for ideas. Harry was startled that Louis even knew how to use the device—Zayn liked human technology, and tended to make sure the angels under him were up to date on the latest gadgets—but was even more caught off guard when Louis’ clothing flickered and changed to match an outfit from one of the photos.

“How did you do that?” Harry had yelped, looking around the room as if the suit Louis had been wearing might be hiding around a corner.

“Magic,” Louis had teased, wiggling his fingers in response.

The outfit in question was far tighter than the clothing Louis was used to. His shirt was white with a small, cross-like logo on the left side. Dark, tight jeans encased his legs, ending in high top trainers with the laces sloppily tied. Harry had commented on the lack of socks, but Louis didn’t see why they were necessary, so off they remained.

He had to admit, he fit right in among the other bodies writhing along with the pounding music. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so much fitted clothing, so much skin, all in one place. He certainly wasn’t used to the way people were grinding against one another, thrusting together, right there on the dance floor where anyone could see.

And Harry wanted him to join them.

“I won’t be doing any of that,” Louis said warily, pointing to a woman who was shaking her backside up and down so rapidly that it seemed to bounce.

Harry found that hilarious. “Okay, no twerking, promise,” he laughed, wiping at his eyes. “Dancing is about moving however you want. Come on,” he urged, and then Louis was being pulled out on the dance floor, every side surrounded by heat and sweat. His skin felt electrified, the energy in the room nearly tangible. He felt, well, alive. He was on the back of a motorbike again, face tipped toward the sun.

He wondered if this is what being human felt like.

Louis watched for the first song, cataloguing the way Harry’s body moved in a rhythm all his own. It wasn’t too different from how he danced on stage, all flailing limbs and twisting body. It was like watching one person dancing to a song that was solely theirs, and Harry seemed to almost glow as he lost himself to a rhythm only he could hear. It was entrancing to watch, and it wasn’t long before Louis felt himself give a testing sway of his hips.

It felt… surprisingly good. Fun. He swayed back and forth again, letting the beat determine the way he moved. Eventually, he felt comfortable enough to bring his arms up, letting them move through the air in counterpoint to his hips. He closed his eyes, feeling the music skitter along his skin, thrum through his veins and the heart of this human body with its finite beats.

“There, you’re getting it!” Harry’s voice cut through his trance, the other man yelling to be heard over the din. He had already worked up a sweat, tendrils of curly brown hair clinging to his forehead and neck. Harry lifted his arms over his head, swaying exaggeratedly from side to side and allowing his shirt to ride up his stomach. The skin underneath looked pale and soft, undiscovered territory, and Louis wanted to reach out and drag his fingers over the curved hipbone barely visible over the waistband of Harry’s jeans.

He didn’t. Where had that thought even come from? He rarely made physical contact with humans, with _anybody,_ unless it was absolutely necessary. It rarely was.

The song changed then, the beat quickening and the lights pulsing along with it. The crowd seemed to crush in around them, pressing Louis close enough to Harry that their bodies were touching. They were silent and still for a moment, Harry regarding Louis with dark, questioning eyes. Then he started to move again, right there in Louis’ space, chin lifted defiantly as if to say _stop me._

Louis wasn’t sure he wanted to. He let himself be pulled along with Harry’s body like the tide was pulled by the moon, and soon enough the two of them were rocking together, their dewy arms sliding together, knees bumping. It was easy to get lost in the sensation, in the noise—in the feeling that, despite being literally surrounded by people, he and Harry were alone together, a unit, moving as one.

The crowd surged again, and Louis felt himself pressed more tightly against Harry. Harry didn’t stumble backward, merely caught Louis’ weight and turned him so that Louis’ back was flush with Harry’s chest, and they were still dancing. Harry’s hands found Louis’ hips, gently guiding them along with the low pound of the bass drum, his forehead falling forward to rest against Louis’ shoulder. Louis couldn’t remember ever being this physically close to another being, not on Earth and certainly not in Heaven. Not a lot of touching in Heaven. It was comforting, nice, and that was enough to ignore the niggling voice in his head that seemed to be chanting right along with the music: _you’re crossing a line, you’re crossing a line, you’re crossing a line…_

But as far as Louis knew, there were no rules about dancing with humans, and so Louis was going to dance. He knew Harry was safe, pressed close to his back, the security detail the band had brought watching dutifully from the perimeter of the dance floor. As long as Harry was in no danger, Louis couldn’t see the harm in letting himself have a little fun for the first time in his existence.

Then Louis stepped back to avoid getting his toes trod on by a pair of very high heels, his bum briefly pressing into Harry’s groin, and there was a gasp in his ear as his back went cold, air hitting his sweat-damp t-shirt without the warmth of a body snug against it.

Thinking something was wrong, that Harry was hurt, Louis spun around, eyes frantic as he surveyed his charge for signs of damage. He shouldn’t have let his guard down, he should have been more careful— but he didn’t see anything wrong. Harry’s face was marked with lines of discomfort, but there didn’t seem to be any pain. He looked embarrassed.

“Sorry,” Harry choked out. “It’s just­– you were–” He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I think I should go back to the hotel.”

Louis blinked in surprise, but nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want. I’ll go with you.”

The offer looked like it pained Harry, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he turned and began stiffly making his way toward the exit. He paused just long enough to tell Liam where he was going, then he was heading out the door without a backward glance. Louis shot an apologetic look at the flummoxed security guard hurrying to keep up with Harry, and together the three of them pushed out of the club and into the warm LA night. It was just gone 1 AM, not late at all by California standards, and the streets were busy and loud. The guard, Lance, must have texted the driver, because a black Escalade was idling at the kerb. Harry climbed in the back, scooting across the seat to make room for Louis, and Lance climbed into the front passenger seat.

Harry confirmed to the driver that he wanted to go back to the hotel, and then remained stonily silent for the rest of the drive. He sat hunched over in the seat, legs clamped tightly together and hands tucked between his thighs. It seemed like he was trying to make himself as small as possible and Louis had no idea why. All that had happened was Louis backing into Harry when the man was aroused, but that was normal, wasn’t it? Humans became aroused when they were excited, and clearly dancing was something that excited Harry. Surely an erection wasn’t enough to merit this kind of response.

They were back in the hotel room before Louis even tried to speak, taking his time to plan what to say. “Are you angry with me?” Louis asked, settling himself down into the armchair as Harry flung himself across the bed, so reminiscent of their first night together.

“No,” came the muffled reply from where Harry’s face was smushed into the bed.

“Are you embarrassed?”

That brought on a sigh as Harry rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and looking very much like he wished could will himself out of existence. “Yes.”

“You don’t need to be,” Louis said. “It’s perfectly natural to become aroused, especially with all of those people grinding on each other around you.”

Harry groaned loudly. “Stop!” he whined, hands flying up to cover his reddening face. “I am not talking about awkward boners with my fucking guardian angel.”

“Why not?” Louis asked, perplexed. “You’ve had a guardian angel your whole life, even if it hasn’t always been me. Everything you’ve done, however private, was observed.” Harry seemed to be going redder and redder as Louis spoke. “I promise you there’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”

“Oh my God,” Harry wailed. “I do not need to think about _Daryl_ watching me masturbate! I’m never touching myself again!”

“It’s not like that,” Louis insisted. “There’s nothing sexual about it for us. We keep watch to assure you’re safe, not to spy on you.” He couldn’t understand Harry’s discomfort—sexuality was a natural part of being human.

Harry sat up, looking at Louis with curiosity. “So, like, there’s no sex in Heaven?”

Louis laughed. “Harry, there’s hardly cause for touching in Heaven. Why would we have sex? In our true forms we are genderless, and we don’t reproduce, so there’s no point in being physical.”

“But right now,” Harry continued. “You have a human body. Could you—”

“Yes,” Louis interrupted, frowning. “I could. But it’s– it isn’t done, Harry. It’s frowned upon.”

“Why?”

Louis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. How was he meant to explain it? How did you tell a being, sexual by nature, that sexuality was non-existent for your kind?

“Angels are meant to be holy, righteous.” At Harry’s raised eyebrow, Louis held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t say perfect. A swear word or a dance now and then is nothing compared to lying with a human, Harry.”

“But what’s so bad about it?” Harry asked. “If sex itself isn’t bad, why is sex between angels and humans forbidden?” His brow was wrinkled in thought, his body leaning toward Louis as if closer proximity might help him to better understand.

“It’s complicated,” Louis replied. And it was; God was a lot more laid back than people seemed to think, but He also had some very firm guidelines in place. ‘Don’t fuck the humans’ was pretty high on that list. “Look, for the most part God doesn’t care what you do or with whom, as long as everyone involved is a willing participant. But angels, Harry… We’re not meant to give into carnal desires. It weakens our powers. Once you cross a certain point, there’s no coming back from it.”

He had seen it, too—seen guardians get a little too comfortable on Earth, let themselves feel so at ease in their human bodies that their powers were lost forever, trapping them in the physical realm. Louis never heard from them again, after that, divine beings lost to a mortal world that felt too small for them.

“What happens?” Harry asked meekly. “If they do it anyway? What happens to them?”

And Louis did not want to continue this conversation. He didn’t want to tell Harry about Nephilim, the cursed offspring of angels and humans: abominations, never meant to exist, and snatched from the world upon their discovery, not fit to live in Heaven or Earth. God wasn’t cruel, but he did expect obedience from his messengers, and such egregious slip-ups were not to be tolerated.

No, Louis wasn’t going to tell Harry that.

“It’s late,” Louis said instead, dodging the question. “You’ve got that radio breakfast show in the morning.”

Harry sighed but didn’t push the issue, perhaps picking up on Louis’ discomfort. “We were wrong,” he said flatly. “We should have said you were my personal assistant instead of my friend. They would have put you on the payroll.”

Louis laughed. “Yes, well, I don’t think you make a habit of taking your assistants dancing, do you? No.” He shook his head, standing up to stretch the kinks out of his spine. “Get some sleep, Harry. Long day tomorrow.”

But Harry, exhausted from a night of dancing and heavy conversation, was already drifting away, mouth slack and cheek pressed into the pillow.

Smiling, Louis pulled the covers up and around Harry before quietly leaving the room, flicking the lights off on the way out. No one paid him any mind as he left the hotel and wandered out into the night, the last revelers straggling home from parties or bars. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be transported back to the winding mountain road he and Harry had driven down on the motorbike, secluded and empty at this time of night. The road was lined by trees, a forest of some sort, and Louis walked far enough into it that he could no longer see the road.

Then, for the first time in days, Louis unfolded his wings and stretched them out to the side, tilting his head to the sky and feeling so much, the breeze and the salt from the ocean and the particles of dirt still settling in his footprints. He’d forgotten what it was like, feeling. Maybe he’d wanted to forget.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning was a bit strained, to say the least. Harry seemed troubled around Louis, twitchy, and was distracted all through One Direction’s interview at the radio station. There were very few questions about the music, Louis noted—the DJ seemed more interested in what kind of girls they would date and if the fans were actually as crazy as they seemed. Harry visibly bristled at the questions, but held his tongue, while Liam managed to give diplomatic answers and Niall simply laughed them off. The three of them were a great team, personable and full of chemistry, and Louis could see the charisma that had charmed the whole world.

After the DJ stopped recording, the band said their goodbyes and hurried out of the studio, Harry the first one out the door. He didn’t even look to see if anyone was following until he was back at the car, lines of frustration clear on his face. The tense curl of his mouth relaxed when he saw it was Louis behind him.

“Hey,” Louis said softly, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s arm. He wasn’t usually so touchy-feely, but it seemed the the right thing to do. And it was; Harry leaned into the touch, his lips showing the barest hint of a smile. “You okay?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged. “Not really. Can we get out of here?” He glanced past Louis where the other lads were finally catching up with them. “Just you and me,” he pleaded quietly. “Please.”

“Of course,” Louis murmured back. He turned to the rest of their little entourage, a large grin in place. “Hey, you lot don’t mind if I borrow Harry for the afternoon, do you? He owes me lunch,” he explained, managing to sound almost apologetic.

Liam and Niall glanced at one another, sharing a look that Louis couldn’t decipher. “Yeah, okay,” Liam said. “Just be careful. Harry here will get you into trouble faster than you can blink,” he teased.

Louis feigned a laugh. “Oh, trust me, I’m all too aware. Cheers, lads, I’ll have him back to you in one piece.”

They climbed into two separate cars, Harry and Louis in one and Niall and Liam in the other. “Where to?” the driver asked, peering at them in the rearview mirror with kind brown eyes.

“I hadn’t planned that far ahead,” Harry confessed. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we won’t get mobbed.”

Louis nodded. “I know just the place.”

He instructed the driver to take them to a nice sushi restaurant in Malibu, one with professional staff members and private dining rooms. Harry’s eyes lit up like he recognised it.

“This okay?” Louis asked, pausing before he opened the door. “I heard it was a good place to have a quiet meal. And I’ve been wanting to try sushi,” he admitted.

“No, it’s perfect,” Harry insisted, a much more genuine smile in place. “The food here is great; you’ll love it.”

They were promptly seated in a quiet room toward the back, all dark wood and low lighting. It would have been romantic, Louis supposed, if he were human. Harry had convinced the body guard to stay at the bar out in the main dining area, so Harry and Louis were able to have a private meal.

“Do you even need to eat?” Harry asked once they’d ordered, the waiter gathering their menus and politely slipping away.

“No,” Louis admitted. “But I do have a fondness for it. Bit jealous, really, that you lot get to eat new things all the time.”

“Really?” Harry laughed. “All the glory and riches of Heaven, and you’re jealous of human food?”

“Well, not all of it!” Louis admitted. “I wouldn’t give up, you know, being constantly in the presence of God for something like that square thing you had for breakfast—”

“Pop Tarts,” Harry corrected with a bemused smile.

Louis waved a dismissive hand. “Sure. Those.”

Harry propped his chin up in his hand. “What’s He like?”

“God?” Louis asked. “He’s indescribable. Being in His presence is simultaneously awe-inspiring and the most natural feeling there is. He’s kind, and caring, and He loves you all a lot more than you deserve.” He paused for a moment. “Us too, actually. He can be overbearing at times, but I suppose that’s his right. It must be frustrating, loving all of us, even when we manage to cock everything up.”

“Angels mess up too?” Harry blinked in surprise. “How?”

Louis hesitated, trying to phrase his answer in a way that hopefully wouldn’t open the door to more questions on the matter. “When your job is to keep someone safe, and you make a mistake, people die.” He shook his head. “But yes, we make mistakes in other ways as well.”

“Like sleeping with humans?” Harry asked wryly.

Louis swatted at him with a napkin. “Stuck on that one, are you?” Louis asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Hoping I’ll bring ‘round an angel friend in a woman’s body?”  
  
Harry’s smile faded instantly and his gaze fell to the empty appetiser plate in front of him. “Yeah. Something like that.” There was a flatness to his tone that sounded wrong, almost morbid, in his deep voice.  
  
“Do you want to talk about what’s got you so upset?” Louis asked gently, wanting to reach out and take Harry’s hand but restraining himself. Instead he folded his hands together, rubbing one thumb along the opposite knuckles in a facsimile of comfort.  
  
Harry shifted in his seat, several emotions fighting for dominance on his face. “No. I don’t know.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”  
  
“Try me,” Louis encouraged. “I’m not just here for your protection, you know. I’m also meant to be a guide, if you need one.” At Harry’s reluctant glance, Louis added, “You can tell me anything, Harry. God already knows you down to your deepest thoughts and desires, and doesn’t pass judgment. Who am I to, then?”  
  
“Okay,” Harry replied, blowing an unsteady breath out through his lips. “You were listening to the interview, yeah?” Louis nodded. “You heard the way that the DJ was talking about our fans, mocking them, for being excited about something.” He looked genuinely pained. “Not all of our fans are twelve year old girls, but it’s not fair to belittle someone for being passionate about something regardless of their age or sex. Twelve or thirty, all of our fans are so passionate and amazing, and I hate seeing them made fun of. A few extreme cases shouldn’t spoil it for the rest of them.”  
  
Louis smiled softly, because even in the short time they’d been acquainted, he could tell that was a very Harry thing to say. The fact that he was upset over the feelings of thousands of people worldwide, most of whom he’d never meet, was just one of the things that made Harry so special. Louis had a feeling that deep down inside, past the squishy human bits, Harry’s soul was solid gold.  
  
“Is that all that’s bothering you?” Louis asked.  
  
“No,” Harry admitted reluctantly, but then the waiter was bringing in plates laden with sushi, and the conversation would have to wait.  
  
They ate mostly in silence, occasionally commenting on this roll or that kind of nigiri, daring each other to try the pink slivers of ginger or progressively larger bites of wasabi. It was fun and relaxing in a way that Louis wasn’t used to; around Harry, he felt as though he could let his guard down. Be himself in a way that he hadn’t felt around any other human before. He wasn’t sure if that meant he was becoming worldlier as time went on, or if Harry was more angelic than most humans he’d encountered. Both, perhaps.  
  
Eventually, they sat with full bellies in front of empty plates, trading sips of green tea and hot sake. The alcohol didn’t have an effect on Louis, but he liked the warm slide of it down his throat, the slight burn it left on his tongue. Once their plates had been cleared and they were alone again, Louis set down his empty sake cup, turning it in circles on the tablecloth. “Was there something else you were going to tell me?”  
  
Harry was silent for a moment, pouring himself another cup of sake from the little white bottle and tossing it back like a shot. He shivered at the taste before looking up at Louis with wide eyes and flushed, pink cheeks. “I’m gay,” he admitted, almost too soft to hear.  
  
Louis blinked. He knew as much from reading Harry’s file, but he hadn’t given it another thought —he’d never had a homosexual charge before, but he couldn’t imagine it would change things that dramatically. Now, though, being told by Harry seemed important somehow, and he was quiet in the magnitude of the admission.  
  
Harry barreled on, emboldened by the sake. “No one outside our team knows. No one else can know,” he added in a hushed voice. “Our management thinks we need to appear available to our fans, and gay men don’t appeal to wider audiences.” Louis could hear the quote in the last line, wondered how many times Harry had to listen to that exact spiel. “But it means I have to sit through question after question about what kind of girls I like, and if I would date a fan, and if I’m interested in the model I complimented after the fashion show I went to.” He shook his head, tears of frustration beading up in the corners of tightly closed eyes. “No one ever bothers to ask if any of us might not be straight, and I wouldn’t be allowed to answer truthfully if they did.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Louis said softly, unsure of what else to say. He felt entirely out of his depth, and also like a bit of a prick for the lady angel comment he’d made earlier. He wasn’t even thinking.  
  
“Does it really matter to God?” Harry asked meekly, like he was afraid of the answer. “Being gay. So many people here, they say it’s a sin, big enough to damn your soul for all eternity. I never wanted to believe that was actually true, but…”  
  
“But you’re still scared,” Louis finished, and Harry nodded with wide, wet eyes. Louis gave him a smile, one he hoped was comforting, and this time he didn’t keep himself from reaching out and taking Harry’s hand. “I meant what I said, Harry. As long as everyone involved is consenting, God really couldn’t care less where you stick your dick. He gave you bodies to use, to enjoy, and it would be a cruel thing indeed to give you sexual desires only to punish you for acting on them.”  
  
Harry relaxed visibly at that, like a weight had been lifted off of him, and he smiled at Louis. “How about you? Does it bother you?”  
  
Louis scoffed. “Please. I’ve spent time in Ancient Greece.” He leered at Harry, waggling his eyebrows. “As for what I said earlier, I suppose I should be introducing you to my angel friends in male bodies.”  
  
Harry chuckled at that, but it seemed forced, thin. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Much better.” Then their check came, and the conversation was effectively ended.

\-----

Things developed into a sort of rhythm, after that. Between plane trips, Harry would join his bandmates during the day for interviews or promo. But the evenings—at least, the ones free of concerts—belonged to Louis. They’d usually hole up in whatever hotel the band was staying in, Harry asking Louis questions about being an angel or trying to explain some pop culture reference that Louis had missed. Some nights, they’d slip away to a quiet dinner or for a walk, Louis choosing to remain unseen to avoid being photographed. It wasn’t that he minded, more that he didn’t want to cause any PR problems on Harry’s end. From what he understood, the tabloids could be quite vicious if Harry was photographed standing next to someone, let alone dining with them on a regular basis.  
  
When Liam and Niall asked why Harry was always alone in the photos of him at various restaurants across the country, the pair of them shared a knowing look, Harry barely managing to keep from giggling. “Must have been in the loo,” Louis replied, doing his level best to keep a straight face.  
  
“Yeah, but every time?” Niall asked, sounding a mixture of incredulous and impressed.  
  
They seemed to grow closer and closer in every city, Harry confiding more in Louis and Louis opening up in a way he never had before. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that he and Harry weren’t actually old friends. It had never been this simple before, and Louis wasn’t sure what to make of that. He couldn’t even speak to Zayn as freely as he did Harry, and Zayn truly was his oldest friend.  
  
He still continued avoiding talking about what caused him to retire. At least, he tried to.  
  
They were somewhere in the middle of the country—Oklahoma, perhaps. Louis hadn’t been in this part of the country since before the states had names, when it was all woodland and wildlife. Even now, it was a far cry from the towering buildings of New York and Los Angeles. The hotel was nice, but not as luxurious as some they’d stayed in. Still, they were seated cross-legged in Harry’s king sized bed, room service spread over the ugly patterned cover and some movie Louis had never seen playing in the background. Something about angels helping a baseball team, which, _as if_. Louis would never be caught dead playing sports.  
  
Though, he never thought he’d enjoy riding a motorbike, and look how that turned out.

The conversation had been pretty mild so far, with Harry trying to explain the rules of baseball and Louis talking about the Olympics back before ‘they started including such ridiculous sports.’ Harry had looked at him in awe, unable to fathom being alive to see what to humans seemed like ancient history.

“Where else have you been?” Harry asked.

“All over,” Louis replied, shrugging. “Ancient Greece. China during the Ming Dynasty. Here for about forty years in the late 16th century. India. France.” His voice caught on the last one, and Harry took notice.

“When were you in France?” he asked, trying to seem less interested than he really was.

Louis shifted, putting his half-finished plate of chips down and wiping at his hands with a serviette. “During the Reign of Terror.” His throat felt thick, like it was coated with all the blood that had filled the streets. Terror was right; even as an immortal being, Louis had been afraid. He had called out to God every day, begging for it to end, and would have wept in relief if he had been in human form when it was finally, finally over. But he had been back home, back in his true form, because his charge was dead by then.

And angels don’t cry.

Harry was quiet for a bit, very still, as if Louis was a scared animal and he was trying not to spook him. Eventually, in a small voice, Harry said: “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Louis replied automatically, harsher than necessary. Then, softer, “maybe. I don’t know.” No one knew the full story. Sure, he’d had to file a report upon his return to Heaven, but writing it out had felt cold and clinical. To talk about it, to tell the story of the violent images that still clung to the inside of his eyelids—just the thought left him feeling raw and flayed open.

“You don’t have to,” Harry assured him, muting the television and turning his body to face Louis. “But I’ll listen if you do. I won’t judge you either.”

Something warm washed over Louis, comforting, like submersing himself in a warm bath. How was Harry so different from any human he’d ever met? How did he always know just what to say, to do, to get through the exterior Louis had spent centuries crafting?

“Do you know,” Louis began, his voice sounding far calmer than he felt, “what _la Terreur_ was? Did you learn about it in school?

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It was in the late 1700s in France, right? A lot of people were sentenced to death by guillotine, even the King and Queen.”

Louis chuckled darkly. “That’s putting it quite simply, but yes. It was a political struggle, and if you spoke out, you were an enemy. No one was safe; aristocrats, peasants, even priests and nuns met their end by the National Razor.” He closed his eyes, fighting away the ghosts of memories. “Still more were shot, or drowned, or dragged into the streets and beaten. Anyone suspicious was given a death sentence, even if that suspicion was merely born from the mouth of someone else.”

Harry’s eyes were wide, sad, as he listened to Louis recount horrors he had most likely daydreamed through in history lessons. “Were you the guardian of someone guilty of treason?” he asked.

“Yes and no,” Louis said, swallowing against the lump forming in his throat, because this was the hard part. “Mélite. I’ve mentioned her name before. She was a victim, but she was anything but guilty.” His mouth felt dry, and he paused to take a sip of whatever soft drink Harry had ordered for them. “She was only a child, Harry. She was fifteen years old when she died.” _When I let her die._

“What was she like?” Harry asked.

Louis smiled, allowing her image to invade his memory, her grin still as big and infectious in his mind as it had been in life. “She was sweet, and kind. She had long, curly hair and these wide brown eyes, and always looked like she was in on a joke that no one else was.” He tilted his head at Harry. “There are times when you remind me so much of her that I can’t quite stand to look at you,” he said apologetically, but Harry only nodded sadly in response. “Her father, he was against the killings. He didn’t think anyone should die just for disagreeing with the government. That was enough to see him to the guillotine.” Louis shuddered at the memory, of watching Mélite’s mother hold her child back as her father was taken from them, knowing exactly what his fate would be.

“Were they killed too?” Harry asked, his eyes glassy with emotion.

“Not like that,” Louis replied, shaking his head. “They fled to Nantes, to live with Mélite’s uncle.” He smiled sadly. “They escaped the guillotine, but the soldiers found them in Nantes and arrested them all. Jail was terrible there, cramped and disease-ridden, but catching typhus would have been a mercy.” He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “She and the rest of her family were loaded on a boat and drowned in the Loire, along with a few hundred other so-called criminals. All I could do was watch.” His voice sounded so small, so weak, and he didn’t realise he was openly weeping until Harry pulled him close and began rubbing his back.

“Shh, shh,” Harry comforted, rocking Louis gently back and forth. “It wasn’t your fault, Lou. You have to see that. Maybe it was just her time.”

Louis jerked away, shaking his head forcefully. “No one should be meant to die at fifteen,” he said fiercely. “I can’t accept that. There must have been something I could have done, and I didn’t, and she died. I swore I’d never take on another human ever again.”

“Until me.”

Louis nodded. “Until you. And you had better have a long, happy life so that I don’t regret it.” He smiled then, watery as it was, and swiped at his eyes. “Ugh, look at me. I don’t do this, you know.”

Harry looked surprised. “What, talk about your feelings?”

“No, cry,” Louis said, laughing. “It’s not something we’re meant to do. Crying is a human trait.” He reached out to teasingly tug at a lock of Harry’s hair. “You’re a bad influence on me, Styles.”

Harry just grinned back at him, not looking the least bit sorry.

\-----

If Louis thought anything would change after that, he was sorely mistaken. Harry didn’t look at him with pity, or judgment, or disgust. Instead, it seemed like they were even closer than before.

“I can’t remember what I used to do before you came along,” Harry said one evening over dinner. It was their last night in the States before heading off on the European leg of One Direction’s tour, and Harry had insisted they get McDonald’s.

(“Don’t they have these virtually everywhere?” Louis had asked, looking at the drive thru menu with disdain.

“It’s different,” Harry had insisted, and that had been that.)

They had a veritable feast spread out between them in the backseat of the ‘borrowed’ Escalade, burgers and chips and breaded pieces of chicken with a variety of dipping sauces. It was delightfully awful, in Louis’ opinion, and he found himself suddenly grateful that he didn’t have to worry about the effects on his body. He could see himself getting into big trouble, eating garbage like this regularly.

“To our last night in the US for a while,” Harry said, lifting his paper drink cup and knocking it against Louis’. “I’m looking forward to showing you around London,” he admitted, the excitement creeping into his tone.

“I was wandering around London before you were even born,” Louis teased. “I’ve seen Shakespeare at the original Globe Theatre; I’m not so easily impressed.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, big fancy angel, seen the world and all that.” He lifted a burger, waving it at Louis. “Yet I still saw the face you made when you tried your Big Mac.”

“Hey, I can enjoy McDonald’s and Shakespeare both,” Louis argued, tossing a chip at Harry. “I can even enjoy that noise you lot call music.”

“You love our music!” Harry countered. “I’ve seen you backstage; you know all the words, and don’t even try to deny it.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I know all the words to the Barney theme tune, thanks to you. Doesn’t make it good music.”

Then Harry tackled him, and a McFlurry hit the floor, and Harry spent the next twenty minutes searching late night detailing on his mobile so he could get it cleaned up before they left.

When they had to be at the airport at four the next morning, Harry and Louis were both still groggy and smelled of grease, but the Escalade was cleaned and there was a handsome tip for the driver left in the cup holder.

The flight to London was a bit exciting for Louis, who hadn’t yet experienced the joys of air travel. He scoffed when Harry offered to let him sit by the window. “I’ve looked down on all of Creation _and_ I have me own wings, Harry,” he said flatly, but still slid into the window seat.

And, okay, it was pretty fun. He stopped pretending to be bored as soon as the aeroplane took off, enjoying the force on his body and the way everything tilted before growing smaller and smaller. He pressed his face to the window, looking down as they cut through the clouds and the fields below turned into a patchwork of green and brown squares.

He turned away after a few moments only to find Harry watching him, smiling warmly. He looked sleepy and soft, his hair sloppily pulled back and tired creases next to his eyes, and Louis sort of wanted to pull him close and allow Harry to cuddle into him.

“What are you looking at, then?” Louis asked, though there was no bite in his tone.

“You,” Harry replied, smile widening enough to reveal his dimple. “You’re so cute.”

Louis felt his cheeks heating up, the capillaries under the fine skin dilating. He was… oh God, he was blushing. He didn’t blush.

“Are you—” Harry started to ask, but Louis cut him off quickly with a strangled “No!” And then it was back to staring determinedly out the window. He heard Harry chuckle in the seat next to him, but kept his eyes firmly on the filmy plexiglass of the window.

Somehow word had gotten out that One Direction would be returning to London, and the crowds waiting outside Heathrow were thick. The security guards, well-practised at this by now, formed a protective barrier around the boys, looking only slightly put-upon when they veered off to take selfies with a few fans on the way to the waiting cars.

“Harry! Harry! Over here!” a couple of girls called out, leaning over the barricade and waving photographs for Harry to sign.

Harry peeled off from the group and headed toward the girls, graciously taking the proffered materials and quickly scribbling his signature across the pages. Louis, choosing to remain unseen, watched on in wonder as Harry took one of the girls’ mobiles and squeezed in for a photo with them.

The thing was, people seemed to light up around Harry. It was as if he had too much brilliance, so he was chosen to share his excess with the rest of the world. Watching him was like staring at the sun: painfully brilliant, but you had to look every now and then to be reminded of the magnitude of it.

Louis had never been so enthralled with a person in all his long life, and he was beginning to wonder if he had been misled—was there really no one else to take Harry’s case? Or maybe Zayn knew that Louis needed Harry, that the popstar would be a healing balm of sorts, repairing age old wounds and breathing new life into Louis that he’d long since given up hope for.

Finally the security team managed to corral the three boys into a car, all of them pink-cheeked from the nippy air. “Is it always like that?” Louis asked, once they were past the crowds and officially on the road. The band always took the back way into venues, managing to avoid being mobbed, and the sheer number of fans waiting to chance a glimpse at their idols was staggering to Louis.

“Oh, usually it’s worse,” Liam said, rubbing at an errant Sharpie mark on his hand from signing autographs. “Sometimes there are loads more, and they aren’t always quite so nice.”

“Someone tried to take Li’s ear once,” Niall said matter-of-factly, Liam touching his ear and grimacing at the memory. “And this one girl left a big lipstick stain on Hazza’s coat.”

Harry shrugged it off. “They just get really excited,” he said. “You only hear about the ones who get out of hand—most of them are genuinely quite lovely.”

 _You’re lovely_ , Louis thought to himself, but the words hung heavy on his tongue and he swallowed them back down, the weight in his stomach anchoring him to reality. He needed to stay focused, because the last time he lost focus he let someone die.

\-----

It was a nice change of pace, that instead of going to a hotel Louis and Harry were driven to Harry’s home. It hadn’t been lived in the whole time One Direction had been abroad, but Louis could tell by the freshness of the air and the pristine surfaces that it had been lovingly cared for in his absence. The house was quite large, decorated with an eclectic mix of modern and antique furnishings, and it felt like a home.

Harry seemed to relax as soon as they were inside, dropping his bags in the hall and heading straight for a plush sofa. He settled down on a cushion that looked like it might have been used more than the others and wriggled into the spot with a huge sigh, a dopey smile on his face. “Home sweet home,” he said happily.

“It’s a really nice place,” Louis commented, setting his own bag down next to Harry’s. There was nothing important in it—a pair of Harry’s shoes, a wadded up jumper, some chewing gum. It was just for show, as it might have looked odd if Louis were following Harry around the globe with no luggage of his own. He could have just trailed along without being seen, but eventually Liam and Niall would start to question how Louis got around if he never traveled with them.

“I’ll give you the tour in a minute,” Harry promised, toeing off his shoes and kicking his socked feet up on the coffee table. “Let me just…” He trailed off and made a vague gesture with his hand.

“We’ve got all day,” Louis laughed, before setting off in search of the kitchen. They did, too—the band had the rest of the evening free, and aside from a meeting in the afternoon, tomorrow was wide open as well. All too soon it would be back to the hectic tour schedule, concerts and flights and hotels, but for right now they could afford to take their time and relax.

It was strange to Louis, how he’d managed to get so used to the madness of it all. In every previous case, life had been routine and, comparatively, simple. There were rules and chores, and work to be done, but one day rarely varied wildly from the next. Back on Earth for just a few months, Louis had already traveled more than in any of his other visits combined.

He smiled to himself as he learned the layout of the kitchen, putting the kettle on and pulling a couple of mugs down from the cabinet. The fridge had been recently stocked; there was a new carton of milk and fresh vegetables. Louis grabbed the milk and set it next to the mugs on the counter, then opened cabinets and drawers until he found the tea and silverware.

A few minutes later, a mug of steaming hot tea in each hand, Louis made his way back to the lounge. “Harry, I made you a cuppa.” He stopped in his tracks when he rounded the corner, though, because Harry was fast asleep right where Louis had left him. His feet were still propped on the coffee table, head lolled against the back of the sofa and mouth hanging slightly open. He looked so peaceful.

Moving quietly so as not to disturb the boy sleeping on the couch, Louis set down both mugs of tea on an end table and crossed the room to grab a throw off the back of an armchair. It was soft and blue, with tassels around the edge, and Louis carefully draped it over Harry’s sleeping form. Harry mumbled something unintelligible, his eyes moving behind his eyelids, but he didn’t wake.

“Sleep well, love,” Louis murmured, before picking up his tea and settling down into the armchair to watch over Harry while he slept. It wasn’t creepy if it was his job, he reasoned, and at least here he knew Harry was safe.

By the time Harry woke, it was dark outside. Louis had long since finished his tea and poured Harry’s unused portion down the drain, and was now sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the armchair with a stack of photo albums in front of him, flipping lazily through one. He glanced up when he heard Harry stirring.

“Hey,” Harry croaked, his voice sleep-raspy and low. “’M sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“No worries,” Louis replied. “You needed it. Besides, I found a way to stay busy.” Louis held up the album, open to a page of baby photos. A very naked infant Harry was lying on his stomach, a toothless smile on his face and his bare bottom proudly on display.

Harry groaned. “I can’t even complain about you having seen my bum now, because according to you angels have no sense of privacy anyway.”

Louis shrugged. “Nudity is natural, Harry. Modesty is a human invention.” He tapped the photo. “You didn’t care about being naked then; it’s something that you learned as you grew.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Harry said thoughtfully. He bit at his lip. “Can I ask a weird question?”

Louis chuckled. “Of course you can,” he said, flipping the page to photos of a slightly older Harry with surprisingly blond hair. “Cute,” he remarked, tilting the book so Harry could see.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Embarrassing. No, what I was going to ask… You’re in a human body, right?”

Louis looked down at himself, blinking. “That’s what I’ve been led to believe.”

“Are you, erm,” Harry trailed off, his cheeks a violent shade of red. “Do you have—”

Louis couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I’m anatomically correct. Is that what you’re asking?” He shook his head, trying to will the giggles to subside. “I thought that was implied when you asked me if I was capable of having intercourse.”

“I wasn’t sure!” Harry whinged defensively. “I thought it might be like _Dogma_ , and you were built like a Ken Doll or something.”

“A what?”

And that’s how Harry and Louis ended up on the couch, watching _Dogma_ and sharing the blue throw blanket. There was enough room to spread out, but Louis found himself scooting closer to Harry, their thighs and shoulders touching. Despite the wild inaccuracies, it was an enjoyable film and he was especially amused by the portrayal of God.

“Does it really work like that?” Harry asked after the film was over. “Can angels really cut off their wings to become human?”

Louis shook his head. “No. We aren’t human, and we don’t need our wings to fly. They’re symbolic more than anything; they appear feathered when we show them to you lot because that’s what you expect to see. In Heaven, they’re made of the same energy as the rest of our bodies.” Louis gestured at the screen, where the end credits were rolling. “And they’re far more impressive than that in person.”

“Really?” Harry asked, leaning away to get a better look at Louis, as if his wings might have suddenly popped into view. “How do you mean?”

“You just want to get a peek,” Louis teased, nudging Harry playfully with his elbow. “I don’t get my wings out for just anybody, you know.”

Harry shoved at him, scowling. “You’re the worst. You can’t blame me for being curious.”

Louis tapped his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “No, I suppose I can’t.” He faked a heavy, put-upon sigh. “All right, I’ll show you. But only if you promise not to climb up on any guardrails for any of the London concerts.”

“But the fans expect it!” Harry protested, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “They’ll be disappointed!”

“They’d be more disappointed if the concert was cut short because you cracked your head open.”

“Fine,” Harry muttered. His disappointment faded a moment later when he remembered what they’d been discussing. “I can really see them, though? Your wings?”

Louis looked around the room. “I suppose here is as good a place as any.” They were alone, on a secure property; there was very little chance of being seen. He climbed off the couch, stretching after sitting through the movie, and moved to stand in the middle of the lounge.

He felt inexplicably nervous. Exposed, in a way. It seemed almost intimate, like by showing Harry his wings he was baring some secret part of himself. Which was ridiculous; all angels had wings (some more than one set), and there was no such thing as ‘wing envy.’ As they say on Earth, size didn’t matter. A pair of wings was unique to the angel they belonged to, as lovingly crafted by their creator as any other part of them, so comparing them was a pointless exercise.

“Okay,” he said, steeling himself, before taking in a deep breath and letting his wings free. It wasn’t so theatrical as the movies made it seem—they didn’t burst through his skin or clothing. Instead, they seemed to unfold out of thin air, sprouting from Louis’ shoulder blades and unfurling like a flower in bloom. The ends were long enough to drag the ground at their full height. Louis rolled his shoulders, the weight of them grounding after going so long without letting them breathe, and he held them out to the sides so Harry could get a better look at them. “What do you think?” he asked meekly, spreading his hands in front of him. He felt as if he was offering himself up, somehow. Like Harry was some ancient god, and Louis was the best sacrifice mere mortals could come up with.

But Harry looked at him with shiny eyes and a slack jaw, wonder etched into every feature. “They’re beautiful.”

Louis could feel the blush rising in his cheeks as he ducked his head to one side, his eyes catching on the feathered wingtip in his peripheral vision. He had to admit it: they were quite lovely. Instead of white and fluffy, like humans tended to portray angel wings, Louis’ were a darker colour, shining in a way that looked metallic in the light. The feathers closest to his shoulders were an almost charcoal grey, fading to slate and then shifting to a glimmering silver at his alula feathers. The very tips of his wings darkened to nearly black in colour. The overall effect gave the impression of staring at a liquid, like they were made of mercury. “Yeah,” Louis agreed, blowing out a breath. “They really are.”

Harry uncoiled himself from the couch, taking a step closer to Louis and reaching out a tentative hand. “May I…?”

“Yes,” Louis said breathlessly, not even considering a refusal. No one else had ever touched Louis’ wings before, and he suddenly found himself desperate to know what someone’s fingers sifting through the feathers would feel like.

Harry closed the distance between them, barely seeming to breathe as he reached out and dragged first one finger, then a flat palm over the shorter feathers at the curved top of his left wing.

The feeling was electric; Louis watched in wonderment as those long, slender fingers stroked over the myriad differently coloured feathers, making each one catch in the light as it was disturbed. He shivered at the sensation, causing them all to settle back into place like a ripple going down his wing, and Harry made a delighted noise at the sight.

“Can you feel that?” Harry asked, sounding awed.

“Yes,” Louis replied. The word came out almost like a moan. He was embarrassed, but couldn’t bear asking Harry to stop.

Harry’s touches became firmer, more confident; he alternated lightly tracing a single feather with a broad stroke of his hand down the sweeping arch of Louis’ wing. Louis trembled in the wake of Harry’s palm, his skin erupting in gooseflesh. His body was responding in ways he’d never felt before, his skin on fire and his muscles tensing and a shuddery sigh escaping his mouth—

It was pleasure: sheer, unadulterated joy, and it was coursing through his human body like lava ready to burst forth from the earth. Louis wanted Harry closer, to know what those hands felt like stroking over the muscles supporting his wings, over the skin on his arms. At the same time, he wasn’t sure he could handle much more. Was this what humans called arousal? What was Harry doing to him, and how was he able to affect Louis in a way that he’d never experienced before in Heaven or on Earth?

“Stop,” Louis whispered, pleaded, even though it pained him to do so.

Harry pulled away immediately and jerked his hand back like Louis’ wing had scalded him. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, eyes roaming wildly in search of damage but not finding a single feather out of place.

Louis opened his eyes, forming his lips into a shaking smile as he wrapped a hand around the one Harry had snatched away. “No, love. It was just… a lot to feel. I’ve never let anyone touch them before.”

“Never?” Harry murmured, looking down at where his hand was held in Louis’. He turned it over so that they were palm to palm, his fingers wrapping around the fine bones of Louis’ hand.

“No one but you,” Louis replied, almost a whisper, and _oh_ , how much weight those words seemed to hold.

Harry was quiet and still, gently stroking Louis’ wrist with his thumb as he stared down at the carpeting. Eventually, he said, “I think I should call it a night.”

“Yeah.” Louis let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “Sleep well, Harry.”

Harry offered a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked sad, almost, and Louis desperately wanted to rewind to just a few moments ago, to when Harry was touching him and it felt so good and—

Forbidden. It felt forbidden, and Louis’ thoughts were going to take him to a place he would never be able to return from.

So he watched as Harry turned and disappeared up the stairs, then listened to his footfalls and the sound of running water until the house was silent.

All the while, Louis stood there numbly in the middle of the living room. His wings suddenly felt like a millstone around his neck, heavy and damning, and for the first time in memory he was happy to tuck them away again. Because like this—with his wings safely out of sight—he appeared human.

And if he were human, he would be allowed to want Harry Styles.

\-----

Their time in London crept by like clouds rolling in; at first it seemed natural to settle in at Harry’s place, and because he didn’t need to be constantly alert, Louis found himself capable of relaxing more fully than he had since beginning this assignment. But then, suddenly, it was the night of the last London show and One Direction was leaving before the next sunrise, Louis along with them—back on the road, back to hotel stays and room service and plane rides. Along with hordes of well-meaning fans that could pose a danger to Harry if he and his guardian didn’t take care.

Maybe it would be a good to move on, though; the atmosphere in Harry’s home had felt tremulous since that first night, like the air had gone thin and yet they kept breathing in lungful after lungful, never quite getting enough oxygen to be comfortable. Harry was back to acting like Louis was a stranger—skirting around him to avoid them touching, constantly inviting his friends or family or Liam and Niall over so that he wasn’t alone for too long at one time.

Then there were the writing sessions, which Harry had flat out forbidden Louis from attending.

The first time this happened, the afternoon after what Louis had taken to calling the Wing Incident, they were stood in the hall of Harry’s home.

“What do you mean I can’t go with you?” Louis asked, eyes narrowed and hands on his hips. “You don’t make the rules, love.”

Harry had sighed, shrugging on a jacket and rummaging around in a bowl by the front door for his keys. “Look, we’re just going to Liam’s. It’s only going to be a few people, and I’m afraid you being there will keep us from writing.” He smiled apologetically. “We do our best work when it’s just us. It isn’t personal, Lou.”

Louis huffed. “I could make myself invisible, then. I could sit right in Niall’s bloody lap and none of you would even know it.”

Harry laughed at that, clearly picturing such a thing. “I know you could. That’s why I’m asking you not to.” He finally found the keys, holding them up in triumph before turning his full attention to Louis. “I don’t mind if you’re there at his house, okay? I would just really appreciate if you’d give us some privacy while we work. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Fine,” Louis had muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. “Since you asked so nicely. I’ll be close by, though, and if I sense anything even remotely wrong, I won’t hesitate to barge right in.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Harry had said, a smile playing at his lips, and then he had ushered Louis out the door and into one of his personal cars.

The drive to Liam’s wasn’t long, and Louis spent most of it opening various compartments and pressing buttons on the dash. There hadn’t been automobiles on his last case, and though he had seen them on visits, the technology was still new and exciting for him. Harry handled the vehicle with confidence and ease, just as he had the motorbike, and every once in a while Louis would catch him glancing over fondly instead of watching the road.

“If you crash because you’re looking at me instead of the road, I’m probably going to be in a bit of hot water with my boss,” Louis told him. He would, too; he couldn’t think of a single case where the cause of death was ‘distracted by own guardian angel.’

“I won’t crash,” Harry promised, but he did keep a closer watch on the tarmac after that.

Liam’s house was big and lovely, situated on a sprawling property with lots of trees for privacy. There were already a few other cars parked out front, and Harry pulled up next to them and turned off the engine.

“Do I have to sit in the car?” Louis teased, one eyebrow raised.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft. Liam has Netflix and cable; I’m sure you can amuse yourself for a few hours. You can finally start _Doctor Who._ ”

“Doctor who?” Louis asked, tilting his head in confusion and earning a laugh from Harry.

“Exactly.”

That was how Louis found himself parked on a big, comfortable sectional in Liam’s lounge, eating crisps and watching what was apparently the longest running science fiction programme of all time. From then on, whenever the band would have a writing session, Louis would pick up right where he left off. The lounge was just far enough away that Louis could only hear the others when they got particularly raucous, and, despite the curiosity gnawing at him incessantly, he never ventured farther than the kitchen to resupply himself with snacks.

Harry would always emerge from these sessions quiet and shy, as if he had left all his energy littered among the lyrics and chords, leaving him stripped bare. Niall and Liam were boisterous as ever when they bid Louis goodbye, along with the other writers helping with the new material, but Harry would just meekly ask Louis if he was ready to leave before helping him gather up his rubbish and drinks cans.

“Is everything okay?” Louis asked on the way back to Harry’s after the final session.

“Why do you ask?” Harry flicked his eyes over at Louis and back to the road.

“You seem down every time we leave one of your writing sessions. Is it going poorly?” He hated the thought of Harry being hard on himself if the words weren’t coming out right, blaming himself if the songs weren’t progressing like he’d hoped. Was that why he’d wanted to keep Louis from witnessing it?

Harry’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “I’m not down,” he argued sullenly.

“Tell that to your voice.”

“I’m not,” Harry insisted. “I’m just… nervous.”

“Nervous?” Louis blinked; that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. “What on Earth for?”

Harry hesitated, worrying at the flesh inside his lip. “It’s just a bit different, that’s all. I just want people to like it.”

“They will,” Louis said confidently.

“Can you see into the future, or something? You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“No,” Louis admitted, reaching over the centre console to give Harry’s knee a comforting pat. “But I’ve heard _you_. They will.”

\-----

A few cities later, in Birmingham, Harry was acting twitchy once more.

“What is going on with you?” Louis demanded, watching from the couch as Harry paced the length of his dressing room for the tenth time in half as many minutes.

“Nothing,” Harry ground out, but turned and crossed the room once more. His hands were shoved in the pockets of indecently tight skinny jeans, until Harry removed them to toy with the hair elastic around his wrist as he stalked about.

“Nothing, my arse,” Louis shot back. “You’ve been acting weird ever since we got to England. Have I done something wrong?”

Harry stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Louis with a helpless expression on his face. “You haven’t done anything,” he said quietly.

“Then what is it?” Louis pressed. “Are you in trouble, Harry? Have you started doing drugs?”

“You’d bloody know, wouldn’t you?” Harry spat, kicking at the floor with one booted foot. “Can’t get a moment to myself, can I?”

That stung, coming from Harry; Louis was only trying to protect him. He couldn’t mess up again, especially not with this extraordinary man, and he didn’t bother trying to keep the pain from showing on his face.

Harry growled in frustration, shoving a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just really anxious about tonight. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Why are you anxious?” Louis asked, taken aback. “Harry, you’ve done so many of these shows. The fans love you. What do you have to be scared about?”

Harry’s shoulders rolled forward, his arms crossing over his torso as he made himself appear much smaller than he was. This was the boy at the heart of the singer, the one who had skyrocketed to fame at sixteen after winning the hearts of the world on a reality show. He looked so young, so untouched by fame and fortune.

So vulnerable.

His voice was small when he spoke again. “Just… Will you watch tonight? The concert?”

“I watch all of them,” Louis replied, standing from his place on the sofa to run his hands down Harry’s tense arms.

“Not from backstage,” Harry continued, leaning into the touch. “Not this time. There are some seats up front, for special guests. Will you—”

“Anything you want, love,” Louis replied, reaching up to fix an errant lock of Harry’s hair. “Look for me; I’ll be the handsome fellow in the front row.”

That was enough to get a laugh from Harry. He opened his mouth after, like he was about to say something, but then there was a knock at the door: it was ten minutes to show time and Harry needed to get mic’d up.

A member of security escorted Louis to a section of seats off to one side of the stage. There were a few other people there, friends and family members of the band and their opening act, and they gave Louis polite smiles as he sat down. The opening band had finished and gone backstage, and the arena was roaring with the screams and chants of thousands of excited fans. It was so different from that first night, when he wandered into that New York concert to get a glimpse of the boy he’d been assigned to protect.

There was a tension that rippled through the crowd as the minutes ticked by; it was palpable in the air, like one heartbeat that ran through each and every person there. Then the stage lights were coming up, the fog machines kicking out vapor, and the doors at the back of the stage slid open. The roar grew to a wail of excitement as the backing band took their places and the three members of One Direction came running down the stairs to the main stage.

Louis stayed seated for the first several songs; he didn’t want to block anyone’s view and he wasn’t about to dance along. Aside from that one time with Harry, he never danced in public and he didn’t plan to make a habit of it. The memory of that evening, however, of the way Harry had been so affected by him, was titillating. At the time, he had blamed Harry’s baser urges, the biological impulse to procreate that human beings were saddled with. Could it have been something deeper than that? Could it have possibly been because of Louis?

“How are all you beautiful people tonight?” Harry’s breathless voice rang out over the arena as the final notes of a song faded away. There was wordless screaming in reply, and Harry’s dimpled grin dominated the large screens on either side of the stage. “We are so happy you chose to spend your evening with us,” Harry continued, walking down the catwalk, pausing here and there to make eye contact with a fan or pull a face for a photo.

“In fact, we have something special planned for you tonight.” The screams grew even louder, an undercurrent of excited chatter joining the din. “We have a brand new song we’d like to share with you. This is the first time we’re performing it live, and we really hope you enjoy it.” He stopped walking right in front of Louis, and smiled almost shyly down at him over the top of his microphone.

“This is _Hey Angel_.”

The crowd’s noise level dropped drastically the second the opening strains of the song started up. Harry looked from Liam to Niall, receiving an encouraging nod from one and a thumbs up from the other, and then he started to sing.

_Hey angel, do you know the reasons why_

_We look up to the sky?_

_Hey angel, do you look at us and laugh_

_When we hold onto the past?_

Louis didn’t even realise he’d stood up until his knees started feeling weak. Was this for him? Is that what all those secretive writing sessions had been about? The unexplained nervousness leading up to the show?

“Oh, I wish I could be more like you,” Liam sang. “Do you wish you could be more like me?”

 _Yes,_ Louis thought, squeezing his eyes closed and letting the music and lyrics wash over him, soaking them in and trying to absorb Harry’s voice into his very being. _That’s all I want._

He did, too; right now he’d give anything to have met Harry as a human, to have been a stranger in the club that night. How different things would have been if they had gotten to know one another under different circumstances.

They didn’t, though; Harry was a human, and Louis was an angel, and Louis had a responsibility not to let his desires get in the way of his job. He wasn’t even supposed to have desires. He couldn’t help but feel like something was terribly wrong with him. Was he being tested?

If he was, Louis was relatively certain he was failing.

The song played on, the uptempo beat a complement to the soaring vocals, and Louis just lost himself in the imagery. _I come alive when I hear your voice_ , they crooned. Maybe that was it. Maybe this is what it felt like to truly be alive. It felt blasphemous to think it, but in that moment Harry was his creator, and Louis was reborn in the sound of his gravelly voice belting through the speakers. There were thousands of people in the crowd, but Harry was singing to Louis; this song belonged to Louis.

Louis understood, suddenly, why some angels chose to become Fallen.

The rest of the concert passed in a blur; Louis didn’t hear a single word of any other song besides the lyrics still running though his mind. He had never felt so much all at once before, and it was staggering. Distracted to the point of reverie, he didn’t even notice that the house lights had come up, the throng of people slowly gathering their belongings and heading to the exits.

He had to get backstage. He had to see Harry.

Neither willing nor able to wait a second longer, Louis ducked around a corner and transported himself directly to Harry’s dressing room. Harry was already there, taking a swig from a bottle of water which he promptly dropped at Louis’ sudden appearance.

“Was it for me?” Louis asked, not letting Harry get a word in first. “The song. Did you write it for me?”

Harry’s eyes were wide, his throat working as he swallowed nervously. “I did,” he admitted reluctantly. “I hope that’s okay. Did you—”

 _Did you like it_ , Harry was probably going to ask, but instead he was silenced as Louis grabbed hold of him and pressed their mouths together.

The kiss was heated and desperate, fumbling and slick. Louis clutched at Harry’s shoulders as if he might suddenly be snatched away and punished for his crimes, but no punishment came. If God was watching, He was turning a blind eye for the moment.

It may be the only chance Louis ever got, and he was damn well going to take it.

Harry was stunned for a moment, but soon his arms snaked around Louis’ body, drawing him even closer. He nipped at Louis’ lip and, upon Louis letting out a surprised little gasp, took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Louis’ mouth. Harry’s big hands slid up Louis’ back, squeezing and rubbing, his thumbs gently massaging right over the places where his wings were hidden.

It was so different than anything Louis had ever felt, physically or emotionally. He never much understood kissing—what could be pleasurable about the exchange of saliva? But like this, with his mouth slotted against Harry’s, Louis never wanted to taste anything else. He would trade all the delicacies in the world for even one more sampling of Harry’s mouth.

He could feel Harry growing hard against him, his erection pressing into Louis’ thigh, and Louis' own human body began stirring as well. This was already crossing a line, hurdling over it even, but unfortunately he couldn’t allow it to go any further. With all of the strength he could muster, Louis slid his hands to rest on Harry’s shoulders and gently pushed the other man away.

Harry looked a proper mess. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks red and lips swollen and redder still. He was still in his sweaty concert attire and his hair fell in frizzy ringlets around his flushing face. “Louis,” he gasped, chest rising and falling unevenly as he came down from his high. “What was—”

“Just once,” Louis whispered, sure that he was a mirror of Harry’s disheveled state. “I had to know what it was like, just once.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the unfairness of it all, the reality that once was all they could have. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m sorry.” It was cowardly, and Louis knew it, but he simply couldn’t deal with this conversation right now. He’d have to explain to Harry that he’d been weak, that it could never happen again, but right now his heart was shattering and Louis decided to allow himself a moment of selfishness.

So ignoring Harry’s protests, he hid himself from view.

“Louis!” Harry called out to the seemingly empty dressing room. “Louis, come back! Please!” There was panic and an ache in his voice that Louis could feel down to his core, but he remained unseen.

Eventually, a bodyguard came to collect Harry from his room to head back to the hotel. After one last dejected look around, Harry followed the guard out, completely unaware that Louis was right there with him, feeling every bit as miserable and twice as guilty.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis was sitting motionless at the foot of Harry’s bed the next morning when Harry stirred awake. Harry had been tossing and turning in his sleep, the thrashing punctuated with occasional moans and whimpers. He seemed to be upset, and Louis couldn’t help but blame himself.

“Louis?” Harry asked once he was awake, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up to scrutinize the angel. “Are you really here?” His already low voice was deeper and rougher from sleep.

“I’m here,” Louis replied, his own voice a soft rasp in the fragile morning air.

Harry frowned, drawing his knees up and draping his arms over them. “I thought you were gone for good. Thought I’d managed to chase away another guardian angel.”

Louis smiled at that, albeit a bit sadly. “I never left,” he admitted. “I was just being a coward. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” Harry said quickly. He took a deep breath and Louis steadied himself for the impending confrontation, but what Harry said next wasn’t what he expected. “Am I really so awful to look after that Daryl couldn’t stand me anymore?”

How was Louis supposed to answer that? It was more complicated than giving him a yes or no. Harry was a very special case, and such a high-profile client presented some very unique challenges, but Daryl was also relatively new to being a guardian.

“You aren’t awful to look after,” Louis said after a while, long enough that Harry had curled into himself even further. “Daryl hasn’t been doing this as long as I have, and he just wasn’t ready for someone like you.”

“And you were?”

Louis grinned. “I’m the best there is, Harry. You sort of hit the guardian angel jackpot, here.”

That coaxed a laugh out of Harry, if a somewhat restrained one. “Did I, now?”

“Yep,” Louis replied smugly. He stretched out a leg, poking Harry’s covered up foot with his big toe. “I meant what I said. I’m not leaving you.”

Harry smiled, tentative but there. “I’m glad. I thought I’d messed everything up last night.”

“Can we not talk about that just yet?” Louis asked, suddenly very fascinated by a nonexistent spot on the bedspread. “We will, I promise, just— not yet.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed easily, an undercurrent of relief in his tone. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Louis felt the tension ebb from his shoulders. “Okay.”

The silence that settled around them felt comfortable and well worn, nothing like the stiffness it had previously held. They probably needed to get moving, get packed and ready to head to the airport. By tonight they’d be testing out the silence of a new hotel room in a different city, perhaps even a different country.

“Hey, Louis?” Harry asked eventually, his quiet voice seeming loud in the stillness of the room. “If you are the best, and you couldn’t save Mélite, I doubt that anyone else could have either. At least with you she stood a fighting chance.”

Louis’ heart clenched painfully at the name, but it was such a kind thing for Harry to say. Quite perceptive, really. He’d never thought of it that way before—how long would she have lasted under someone else’s watch? Perhaps she had been on borrowed time at fifteen, and it was only due to his diligence that she got that far at all.

There was still a voice inside his mind that nagged at him, insisting it was all his fault in a hateful whisper. But now, there was a second voice that spoke up just a little louder, a comforting voice. It sounded a lot like Harry’s.

\-----

The internet, it turned out, was going crazy over _Hey Angel._ It became a regular addition to the set list. The fans had already learned all the words, and sang right along with the band even though the song hadn’t been officially released yet. Once word got around that Harry penned most of the lyrics, the world was dying to know: who was it for?

Louis stopped watching the shows from backstage. Some nights, like in Birmingham, he’d sit in the little roped off section and try to keep his heart from racing at the smile that split Harry’s face when he saw Louis there. Other nights he’d slip unseen into the masses, getting lost in the rhythm of thousands of bodies swaying to the same song. No matter where he stood, he never took his eyes off of Harry. There was a particular brilliance about him on the stage, and he almost seemed to glow under the bright lights. Louis couldn’t even bring himself to get mad when Harry took the stairs on the catwalk at a run and fell flat on his back, or when he and Liam were horsing around and Harry very nearly fell off the stage. He possessed a different kind of grace—the kind that let him get back to his feet, slap on a smile, and keep right on going.

Daryl had been mad; being Harry’s guardian, getting to see _this_ daily, was a gift.

They were in Dublin, the second show of three to take place there, and tonight Louis had chosen to situate himself at the end of the catwalk, right next to the smaller stage that jutted into the crowd like a peninsula. Even though the majority of _Hey Angel_ was performed on the main stage, towards the end of the song the band made their way out to the smaller one to take their places for “Ready to Run.” Louis had discovered this angle at the Newcastle show, and he liked it nearly as much as being up close. There was just something about the way Harry moved down the runway, dancing confidently with liquid ease.

Tonight was no exception; Harry was a blur as he made his way closer and closer to the small stage. When the lyrics ended and the last few strains of music died out, he strode toward his spot at the corner, looking out into the crowd like a king surveying his subjects. On second thought, it wasn’t kingliness. Up there, the stage lighting silhouetting him like a halo, Harry looked more angelic than Louis ever had. He would fit right in among the splendour of Heaven and no one would question whether or not he belonged there.

No, that was wrong; Harry would put Heaven to shame.

 _Sorry, God,_ Louis thought, glancing upward with a smirk, _but it’s your own fault. You outdid yourself with this one._

Then the song came to an end, and the screaming started up again. Even knowing that Harry couldn’t see him, Louis cheered just as loud as the group of girls (and one particularly enthusiastic dad) around him. Then Harry looked down, at to him what would have appeared to be an empty space on the floor, and gave a shy little smile.

Louis froze, hurriedly looking around to see if maybe he had let himself slip into view, but no one else was paying him any mind. He tried waving frantically at Harry, testing to see if he got a response, but Harry’s eyes swept right over him. The moment had passed, and Harry didn’t look directly at Louis for the rest of the concert.

“Hey,” Harry greeted warmly, slipping into his dressing room after the show. Like always, Louis was waiting there for him. Harry’s smile fell once he got a good look at the expression Louis was wearing. “Is something the matter?”

Louis stood up, handing Harry a fresh towel for the sweat still beading on his forehead. “No,” Louis lied, dodging the already-sweaty towel Harry tossed his way. “Keep it up, Styles, and I’ll push you into traffic.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Harry laughed, tugged the elastic from his hair and coaxing it loose from the bun he’d tied it up in. “You’d miss me too much. Did you watch tonight?”

“You know I did,” Louis replied. His lips tilted down at the corners. “Humour me for a moment, will you?”

“Sure,” Harry replied, sounding anything but.

Louis let himself slip from view. “Can you tell where I am?” he asked, then silently moved halfway around the room.

Harry looked around in surprise. At first his eyes focused on where Louis’ voice had come from, but then continued sweeping the room for some sign of him. “I can’t see you at all.”

“Don’t try to see me.”

He watched as Harry closed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. Louis had moved again after speaking, now standing near the clothing racks on the opposite wall, and when Harry opened his eyes he turned directly toward him.

Surprised, Louis slipped into visibility again. “How did you do that?” he asked. He had heard of humans being able to sense angels, but had never encountered it in person before.

“That _was_ you, then,” Harry said, eyebrows climbing his forehead. “In the crowd. I could feel you watching me.” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Is this strange?”

Louis hesitated. “Not exactly. It’s rare but not impossible.” Hating the alarmed look on Harry’s face, Louis crossed the room and stroked a hand down the dewy skin of Harry’s arm. “It’s nothing to be worried about. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

 _It’s nothing to worry about,_ Louis repeated to himself, but more sternly. _Just keep your distance, and ask Zayn about it next time you speak to him._ Simple enough.

\-----

Keeping his distance from Harry Styles turned out to be anything but easy.

For one thing, it was Louis’ job to spend most of his time with Harry. Sure, he allowed himself the occasional break, and even Zayn didn’t expect him to watch the singer every moment of the day. Still, they were together more often than not, and whatever it was that had sparked between them seemed to still be going strong.

Louis spent hours in his head, remembering the way Harry’s lips had felt beneath his own. Aside from a few chaste hand or forehead kisses, Louis had never kissed someone in his life. Angels had no need for kissing one another, and he only figuratively kissed Zayn’s arse.

There was a good reason he hadn’t been kissed, though; there were serious consequences to prolonged physical contact with humans. The longer an angel spent out of the presence of God, the weaker their powers became. It would take a century or so for them to weaken to the point of vulnerability, well past the average human lifespan, but that time was drastically shortened if an angel got too close with a human. Touching was one thing; intimacy was far worse. Too much and it would drain Louis’ powers entirely, leaving him unable to return home until he withered and died like any other soul trapped on Earth. Except he would be Fallen, and it wasn’t eternal joy that would be waiting for him when he faced his maker again.

Louis was walking through a beautiful green field, barefoot, enjoying the grass between his toes and carefully avoiding cow droppings. They were in Ireland for another few days before they headed to Wales, and Harry was safely tied up in some meeting or another. It was as good a time as any for Louis to check in upstairs.

“Zayn?” he called out once, glancing up at the fluffy clouds littering the sky. There wasn’t a sophisticated communication system between Heaven and Earth. If you needed something, you called out, and someone would answer if they could. It was a bit like praying, Louis supposed, though having a direct line helped expedite things a bit.

Sure enough, Zayn appeared before him in the next breath. His favoured human form was a work of art: black hair and golden brown eyes, high cheekbones and full lips. Showoff.

“Louis,” Zayn said, tipping his head by way of greeting. “Settling in okay? I have to admit, I expected to hear you whinging far sooner.”

“Oi, fuck off,” Louis muttered with a roll of his eyes. “This is my first case report.”

Zayn smiled easily, one side of his mouth raised higher than the other. “I’m just teasing. I had no doubt you’d be doing splendidly.”

They walked side by side through the pasture, Zayn listening dreamily as Louis gave a rather clinical rundown of his time with Harry so far. What got put in the files was always straightforward and professional, but the lack of emotion had never bothered Louis quite so much as it did now. It made what he and Harry had sound like nothing more than business as usual—cold, sterile, distant—when it was so much more than that.

 _But it shouldn’t be,_ Louis reminded himself.

“And how’s Harry doing?” Zayn asked once Louis had finished speaking. “Is he adjusting to your presence all right?”

Louis stopped, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and turning to face Zayn. “He’s great,” Louis said, rocking on the balls of his bare feet. “I actually wanted to ask you something about that.” Zayn arched his eyebrows: an invitation for Louis to continue, which he did with a sigh. “He’s an affectionate human, and I’ve probably allowed more contact than I should have.” Zayn’s face remained impassive, an unreadable mask, so Louis soldiered on. “I know the effect it can have on me, but could there be any for him?”

“Like what?” Zayn asked, suddenly looking intrigued.

“He can sense my presence, even when I’m hiding myself,” Louis explained, silently praying that Zayn wouldn’t press to find out exactly what kind of contact he’d had with Harry so far. “He’s done it a couple of times now, though he doesn’t seem to be aware of how he manages it.”

Zayn nodded, absorbing this information. He scratched lightly at his chin, covered in an amount of stubble that seemed artfully placed. Which, and Louis reiterated, showoff. “Interesting.”

Louis waited for more to come, but it never did. “Interesting?” he repeated, balking at his supervisor. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Zayn shrugged, now looking incredibly bored with the whole conversation. “Just keep the contact to a minimum, and be on the lookout for any other strange effects.” He reached out, giving Louis’ shoulder a squeeze. Not yet tainted by Earth, Louis could feel the strong stream of energy flowing from Zayn’s palm like an open tap. “You’re doing a great job, Lou. I’m really proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Louis said earnestly, ducking his head at the praise. He had felt like such a failure lately, what with how emotionally compromised he’d become where Harry was concerned, and it was nice to hear that he wasn’t completely blowing it.

Zayn retracted his hand and took a step back, looking up at the sky and taking a deep breath. “Based on what I’ve seen, unless you have any other strange behaviour to report, there’s no need to check in directly to me while you’re here.” He smiled at Louis. “You’re still the best, and that means I don’t have to keep as close an eye on you as with some people. Daryl,” he rolled his eyes as he said the name, “is now the guardian of a little girl in the States who was born without arms, and I think he’s called for help at least once a week.”

Louis chuckled, shaking his head. “Poor Daryl. Poor kid,” he amended. “She gonna be okay?”

Zayn scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “She’s going to be brilliant—long life, great career, the whole bit. He has nothing to worry about.” He gave Louis a knowing wink. “I just like making him squirm.”

“Because you’re an arse,” Louis laughed, and watched as Zayn performed a cheeky salute before vanishing from sight.

As he walked back toward the city, Louis felt lighter than he had since the kiss. Zayn didn’t seem to know about it, or if he did he wasn’t too upset. Louis had prepared himself to be reprimanded only to find out that he wasn’t being watched very closely at all.

That was no reason to let his guard down, though. Just because his boss wasn’t watching at all hours didn’t give Louis free reign to do as he pleased. The rules were in place for a reason, and he needed to do a better job of following them.

“Louis!”

The angel turned toward the sound of Harry’s voice. Without realising it, he’d made it all the way back to the studio One Direction had been meeting at. Harry was standing at the top of the stairs outside the large glass front doors, his entire face lit up with joy at finding Louis.

Seeing Harry like that, with his brilliant grin and such unrestrained happiness dancing in his eyes, made it awfully hard for Louis to remember there were any rules at all.

“How was your meeting?” Louis asked when they were back in the hotel. He’d adopted Harry’s habit of kicking off his shoes and flopping onto the bed. Harry did the same, face planting right next to Louis, far enough away to give the impression of space but close enough that Harry’s fingers brushed against Louis’ arm.

“Mrmph,” Harry said into the pillow top mattress. He rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow so he was looking down at Louis. “It was good. We’re starting to piece together the album.”

Louis hummed in response. _“Hey Angel_ is the first track, naturally.” At Harry’s silence, Louis pushed up to a seated position and looked at Harry incredulously. “Wait, are you serious?”

Harry bit his lip shyly. “It’s a fan favourite,” he explained. “And it’s a great song to set the tone for the album.”

“I can’t believe you,” Louis said, reaching out to shove playfully at Harry’s shoulder. Harry laughed, letting the momentum push him over onto his back. “First you write me a fucking song, then it’s the very first song on your world famous band’s new album. What am I going to do with you?”

Harry lifted his chin defiantly. “You could kiss me again.”

Louis wasn’t expecting that. He studied Harry carefully; the human was lying flat on his back, his cheeks going pink under Louis’ scrutiny. His curls were fanned around him in stark contrast to the white bed linens, and Louis wanted so badly to knot his fingers in the strands and pull.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

Harry’s hair felt just as soft between Louis’ fingers as he’d imagined as he guided Harry’s face to his. His mind was screaming at him to stop even as their lips connected, but every doubt was erased the moment Harry’s eyes drifted closed and he surrendered himself to Louis’ touch.

Louis wasn’t naïve enough to think he was good at kissing, as unpractised as he was, but Harry was patient. He gently took the lead when Louis fumbled, letting first his teeth and then his tongue tease along Louis’ bottom lip.

The distance between their bodies shrank and disappeared as Louis let himself relax. Harry felt warm and solid beneath him, his body taut and ready like a coiled spring. Louis so badly wanted to see how far he could push before Harry would let go, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be far at all.

Hell, at this rate it wouldn’t be far for Louis either. He had no idea it would be like this, so intimate and hot all at once. If it felt this good to sin, who could blame the humans for yielding to temptation now and again? Louis had experienced the wonders of God’s Kingdom in Heaven, an ecstasy the likes of which had no comparison. But if anything stood a chance at coming close, it was this: wrapped tightly in Harry’s arms, pressed together from lips to hips, and yearning to be closer still.

Then suddenly it was too hot and too much and Louis’ body was doing something strange and new that he’d never felt before, and he rolled off of Harry with a strangled cry. Was that— Had he really almost—?

“Are you okay?” Harry panted, struggling to sit up to check on Louis. God, but he looked absolutely wrecked, and Louis had done that to him.

Louis shook his head, trying to focus. Lusting after Harry was what got him into this mess in the first place. _It doesn’t feel like lust,_ a small voice inside of him insisted, but that was even more preposterous; angels weren’t made to love apart from the familial love they had for their creator and the humans they were assigned to protect. They didn’t lust, and they certainly didn’t fall in love.

“I’m fine,” Louis said, collecting himself and trying to even out his breathing. “Are you all right?”

“Grand,” Harry replied breathlessly. He shifted uncomfortably, his erection straining against the fly of his jeans. “Bit too good, actually.”

Louis let his eyes fall to the impressive bulge in Harry’s trousers. He had seen naked men, both soft and erect, but no one had ever been aroused because of him before. He was so curious; what would Harry feel like beneath his hand? His mouth? What would he taste like? How would the skin of his most intimate areas taste as Louis worshiped his body like the holy thing he was?

“Me too,” Louis admitted, studiously ignoring the problem in his own trousers. “That’s the reason I stopped. Look, Harry—”

“There are rules, I know,” Harry groused, looking away from Louis sullenly. “It can’t go any further, one time thing and all that. You’ve said.” He sounded hurt, and Louis’ heart gave an uncomfortable clench at having caused it.

“No,” Louis said softly, and watched as Harry jerked his head up in surprise. “That isn’t what I was going to—” He huffed out a sigh. “There are rules, and this is pushing them quite a bit to be honest, but I don’t think I can stop now that I know what I was missing.” He reached for Harry’s hand, twining their fingers together and squeezing. “But we can’t take it any further, all right? The cost is way too high, for both of us.”

Harry’s eyes were round and hopeful, his palm sweating where it was pressed against Louis’. “You’re serious? I can keep kissing you?”

Louis trapped Harry’s hand between both of his, pulling it to cradle against his chest. “You can if you’d like,” Louis said, kissing Harry’s knuckles. “But only if you are okay with it stopping there. I understand if you don’t want—”

Harry cut him off by leaning forward and pressing his lips to the corner of Louis’ mouth in a quick, chaste kiss. “I want,” he breathed, so close that his breath ghosted over Louis’ lips. “It’s enough for me. You’re enough.”

 _You’ll change your mind,_ Louis thought sadly, even as he wrapped his arms around Harry and drew him in for another kiss. _You’ll find someone who can give you all of them and I’ll have to let you go._ It would be for the best; the other alternative was to have to watch Harry grow old and die, knowing that when he was gone Louis’ life would go back to the way it had been before. It shouldn’t mean anything; after all, a human’s life was but a blink of an eye for Louis.

But Harry meant something, and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

\-----

For what felt like such a monumental upheaval for Louis, very little actually changed. They still spent their days hopping from city to city and their free evenings at restaurants or curled around one another in hotel rooms. Louis still attended every concert, and Harry made sure to look for him during _Hey Angel._ No matter how many times he’d heard the song, having Harry sing it to him in front of thousands of people still gave him an unparalleled thrill. He never felt smaller than when he was looking up at Harry on the stage, practically shimmering in the spotlight, yet so important at the same time. It was a feeling he had quickly gotten used to and couldn’t imagine living without.

Some nights, the pair of them ventured out with the other members of One Direction or their band. It was a little harder to move about unseen, but Louis hadn’t drawn much attention from the fans yet—especially not when all three members of One Direction were spotted going into this restaurant or that club. Louis hung back with the extra security, outside the frame of any photographs, and that was working just fine so far. It was certainly easier than explaining to Liam and Niall how he could make himself appear and disappear at will.

Tonight they were at a restaurant in Melbourne eating drunken prawns and pad thai. Harry’s cheeks were flushed from a combination of the spicy food and being on his second banana daiquiri. Liam and Niall were laughing about something on Twitter, their heads bent together over Liam’s mobile. They had a private booth toward the back of the dining room, far from prying eyes, and the alcohol in their systems had all of the boys feeling loose and relaxed. Harry’s hand had found Louis’ thigh under the table, his fingers tracing invisible letters into the denim of Louis’ jeans.

Eventually, the daiquiris took their toll and Harry had to excuse himself from the table. As soon as he was out of earshot, the other two band members rounded on Louis.

“So,” Niall drawled, dragging out the word. “What are your intentions with our young Harold?”

“Excuse me?” Louis asked, nearly choking on his water.

Liam and Niall shared a look. “Come on, man,” Liam prodded. “You can’t think we haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?” Louis asked, completely caught off guard by the whole exchange. Had they figured out he wasn’t who he said he was?

Niall gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “It’s clear that Harry is crazy about you, mate,” he said. “And I don’t know you very well, but I’d bet you feel the same about him.”

“We’re old friends,” Louis explained feebly, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t aware the other boys knew about Harry’s sexuality, and they certainly hadn’t discussed divulging their relationship with them. His best bet was to stall until Harry came back, and how long did it take to take a piss anyway?

“Sure,” Liam said easily, shrugging. “And now that you’re along on tour, Harry starts writing these beautiful love songs and spending his evenings ‘alone’ in his hotel room.” He made air quotes with his fingers at the word ‘alone.’

“Not every evening,” Louis argued, feeling the need to come to Harry’s defence. “Some nights we go out to dinner.”

Niall nodded in satisfaction, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “Exactly our point. He’s either alone or with you, and that doesn’t leave a lot of time to find sappy inspiration elsewhere.”

“Um.” Louis had never felt so off balance in his life. He had no idea what to tell the two men looking expectantly at him, clearly expecting him to confess his undying love for their band mate over a plate of cabbage rolls.

Luckily, Harry chose that moment to come back from the toilet, coming up behind Louis and settling big, comforting palms on Louis’ tense shoulders. “Sorry I took so long,” Harry apologised, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. “Met a fan outside the loo and took a few pictures. What did I miss?” He let his hands slip off of Louis’ shoulders as he lowered himself back into the empty seat at the table.

Both Niall and Liam seemed cowed, perhaps not wanting to admit that they’d been giving Louis the third degree. “Well,” Liam started hesitantly, but Louis cut him off.

“The lads were just trying to figure out where you’ve been finding inspiration for your songs if you’re always with me,” Louis said, raising an eyebrow in what he hoped was a significant manner.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head. “And did you tell them?” His voice came out almost a purr, smoky and sweet like the Thai iced tea Louis had been sipping on all evening.

 _No, but you just did,_ he thought, mentally kicking Harry in the shin. “I haven’t told them anything,” Louis said carefully.

Harry’s eyes searched Louis’ face, looking for… permission, perhaps. Whatever he was seeking, he seemed to find it; he gave a satisfied little nod before turning to his friends. “I’ve been writing about Louis,” he said, as if was the simplest thing in the world.

“I knew it!” Niall crowed, as Liam grumpily dug a folded note from his wallet and slapped it into Niall’s hand.

“You were betting on me having feelings for Louis?” Harry demanded incredulously.

Niall laughed harder, wiping at his streaming eyes. “Are you mental? We knew you had feelings for Louis.”

“We were betting on whether you’d come clean about it,” Liam added brightly, seemingly already over losing the bet.

The three continued to laugh about it while Louis sank further and further into himself. It felt dangerous, somehow, having more people know about it. Like by telling the band, they were inviting God to take a closer look at what Louis had been getting up to.

But it was just kissing. It was only going to _be_ kissing. That wasn’t enough to earn eternal punishment. At least, Louis hoped it wasn’t.

“You okay?” Harry murmured, his hand finding Louis’ knee beneath the table and stroking it gently.

“I think I need some air,” Louis replied softly. He half-listened as Harry made their excuses, ignoring the suggestive whistles from Liam and Niall and following Harry and the security guard out the back door.

The ride back to the hotel was silent, Harry seeming to sense that Louis was deep in his own thoughts. He did, however, reach for Louis’ hand across the bench seat of the SUV and hold it tightly for the entire drive. It was such a simple gesture, but somehow Louis felt calm and safe all at once—perhaps loved, even.

That was absurd, of course. Whatever Harry thought he felt for Louis, it couldn’t be love. Men wrote epic tales of human romance, and Louis was fairly certain that none of them involved living happily ever after doing nothing more than kissing an angel.

Harry’s arms were around him as soon as they were inside the hotel, protective and strong. He was just a bit taller than Louis, and Louis took advantage of the height difference to bury his face in the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder. He was warm and smelled like sweat and the aftershave he always wore and just a bit like banana from all the daiquiris, but at the moment it was best thing Louis had ever smelled.

“You sure you’re okay?” Harry asked, and Louis could feel the rumble of Harry’s voice beneath his cheek.

“Yes,” he replied, then changed his mind. “I’m frightened.” Admitting it out loud let something cold and unfamiliar wash over Louis. He wasn’t supposed to have feelings; emotions belonged to humans. But he was scared now, scared of what Harry meant to him and what that meant for them both.

“Should I not have told them?”

Louis wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso, squeezing tightly. “This is already terribly unfair for you. You should at least be able to tell your friends.”

“Hey,” Harry chided, pulling away enough that he could grasp Louis’ chin and look him in the eye. “I chose this, remember? You told me how it would be, and that’s what I wanted.” He dipped down, planting a sweet kiss on Louis’ trembling lips. “Whatever you’re willing to give me is far more than I deserve.”

And God, Louis could cry hearing Harry talk like that. It wasn’t true; Harry deserved the sun and the moon and the stars, and true love and a whole mess of babies, and a long and happy life. He deserved every gift that God had to give, and some meant only for the angels. He was more than this life could ever allow him to be.

 _I think I’m falling in love with you,_ Louis thought, but then Harry kissed him again and the words stayed safely inside his own mouth.

\-----

Liam and Niall welcomed Louis into their daily lives even more readily once they discovered he and Harry were an item. He stopped masking his presence quite as often, and was even assigned his own security guard. The downside, of course, was that the fans had started to notice.

“Louis, look here,” Liam called. They were all piled into the sitting area of Liam’s hotel room, sharing takeaway pizza and playing video games. The band had the afternoon off, but fans had figured out the location of their hotel so the boys were effectively trapped inside for the day.

Louis peeled himself from Harry’s side and seated himself next to where Liam was sprawled on his belly on the bed. He had his laptop in front of him, browsing through a website called tumblr. There were lots of boxes on the screen, some containing pictures and others words.

“You’ve been officially spotted, mate,” Liam said, twisting to grin apologetically up at Louis. He turned the laptop so Louis could get a better look.

 _Who IS this?_ one person had posted beneath a collage of grainy photos. Louis was visible in each one, seated at the table with One Direction or trailing behind them at airports or on the way into a club.

 _Guys Harry’s friend is HOTTTT_ someone else wrote. Attached was a photo of Louis that had been digitally cleaned up enough that his face was visible.

There were plenty more where those came from, ranging from questions about his identity to comments on various parts of his anatomy. Curious, Harry came over to peer at the screen as well.

“Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Harry sighed. “Sorry, Lou. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“It’s okay,” Louis said quietly, still reading through the various posts. It was strange, having so much attention all at once. He was used to being invisible, to fading into the background. Honestly, he’d never even seen a photo of himself before, and now there were dozens of them.

Being noticed wasn’t what bothered him; Harry had warned Louis that the fans were remarkably perceptive, and that he was bound to draw their attention if he was around long enough. It was a risk Louis had decided was worth taking. He’d been given instructions on how to present himself when he was with the band: don’t talk to photographers, try not to swear, don’t touch Harry in public. The severe looking woman from One Direction’s management team never even asked if he and Harry were together, but he supposed she didn’t need to.

Still, Louis was right there in the VIP section every night, and Harry always made sure to sing to him during _Hey Angel,_ and people were starting to take notice.

Louis had taken to stealing Harry’s iPad and going on tumblr himself, curious to see what people were saying. There was a small but insistent group of fans convinced that he and Harry were together, calling him ‘Harry’s Angel.’ Well. They weren’t wrong.

The larger, more vocal section of the fandom seemed too convinced by the image of Harry that was portrayed in the media—a ladies’ man who seemed to be allergic to commitment—and posted that Louis was a childhood friend along for the trip. They also said some rather unkind things about Louis just riding the coattails of Harry’s fame, but Louis didn’t let that bother him too much.

They were snuggled up in bed together after the last concert in Japan, Harry still coming down from the high of performing and catching his breath from Louis kissing him senseless. “My mum wants to meet you,” Harry whispered against Louis’ swollen mouth.

“What?” Louis asked, sure he hadn’t heard that correctly.

Harry nuzzled his nose against Louis’ cheek. “My mum. She’s seen all the stuff online and called me wanting to know when she was going to get to meet my boyfriend.” He must have felt Louis stiffen, because he quickly added, “not that that’s what you are. I mean, we haven’t–”

“Harry, it’s okay,” Louis soothed, slipping his hands beneath the sweat-dampened fabric of Harry’s black t-shirt. “I don’t mind if that’s what you want to call me.” Truthfully, the word had sent a zip of pleasure down Louis’ spine. He felt childish, getting such a thrill from a mere name, but he’d long since stopped questioning the way his body reacted to anything Harry said or did.

“So will you? Harry asked, craning his neck backwards to see all of Louis’ face. “Will you meet my mum?”

Louis thought about it. He couldn’t help but picture Mélite as she reached desperately for her father as he was taken away, as she clung to her mother before they were both cruelly drowned in the cold, churning river. He usually didn’t let himself get to know the families of his charges because they weren’t his focus; they were just additional, fleeting lives, a distraction, and he had a job to do.

But something about Harry’s plaintive voice and his wide, innocent eyes, had Louis saying, “Yes,” without a second thought.

Harry’s entire family was to meet them in Wales before the first Cardiff show. Louis was surprised to find his palms sweating, his throat feeling scratched and dry. “Do I look all right?” he asked, glancing at the mirror in Harry’s dressing room for the hundredth time.

“Just as good as you did five minutes ago,” Harry said, amusement seeping into his tone. “Relax. They’re going to love you.”

‘They’ turned out to be Harry’s mum, stepfather, and older sister. The trio tapped on the dressing room door about thirty minutes before the opening act was due to go on, VIP passes hanging on lanyards around their neck.

“Harry!” a woman with long dark hair shouted, flinging her arms around Harry the moment the door opened. “Oh, my darling, I’ve missed you!”

Harry hugged her right back, pulling her into the room to allow the rest of his family to slip inside. “Hi, Mum. Was your journey okay?”

“Fine, terrific,” said a girl who looked remarkably like Harry, her hair dyed blonde and cut into a blunt bob. “I’m more interested in this one over here.” She looked pointedly at Louis.

Three more pairs of eyes fell on Louis, who froze under the sudden attention. This was ridiculous; he had stood in the presence of God—argued with the bloke, even—there should be nothing daunting about meeting Harry’s parents.

As if sensing his discomfort, Harry gently disentangled himself from his mother and moved to Louis’ side. “This is my boyfriend Louis,” Harry said, snaking an arm around Louis’ waist. “And that’s my mum, Anne; my sister, Gemma; and my stepdad Robin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Louis said sincerely. “I’ve heard a lot about all of you.”

“I wish we could say the same about you, dear,” Anne said, stepping forward and pulling Louis into a hug. “Harry’s been hiding you from us.”

“Mum,” Harry groaned. “I told you, it’s still new. We weren’t ready to tell people.”

“She’s just miffed she found out from someone on Twitter,” Gemma laughed, pulling Harry in for a rough hug. “Looking good, little bro. Missed you.”

They settled down for a chat, Anne and her children squeezing onto the couch while Louis and Robin turned the flanking armchairs to face them. He felt a bit like an intruder as he watched the family catching up with one another, which struck him as strange; how many years had he spent watching families interact and never thinking anything of it?

Trouble was, he didn’t want to just watch this family. He wanted to be included.

“Louis,” Anne’s mirthful voice broke his reverie, her eyes still crinkled in laughter from some story Harry had been telling. “Tell us a little about yourself. How did you two meet?”

Harry’s eyes went wide as he looked from his mum to Louis, and Louis was sure he looked about the same. They hadn’t discussed a back-story, but the truth was entirely out of the question.

“I met Harry in New York,” Louis started, deciding that a half-truth was better than fumbling for a convincing lie. “I was at the stadium for work and bumped into him backstage.”

“Were you a fan?” Robin asked, not impolitely but with a stern edge to his voice. The unspoken question was clear: _were you stalking him?_

Harry took the lead, laughing off Robin’s question. “He’d never even heard of us before that day,” he explained, beaming at Louis. “Never even heard one of our songs.”

“Still wouldn’t have if someone didn’t insist on dragging me to all of their bloody concerts,” Louis teased, reaching out a trainer-clad foot and nudging Harry’s booted one.

Gemma and Anne laughed, and Robin smiled, and they didn’t pry for any more details after that.

Watching the concert with Harry’s family was actually a lot of fun. Anne and Robin spent most of the time taking pictures, but Gemma decided it would be more fun to dance in the most ridiculous fashion possible—which also happened to be a pretty decent imitation of her brother’s dancing on the stage. She even got Louis to join in, which drew a glare from Harry every time he caught sight of them flailing about. Louis laughed until his sides ached and he had to sit down. He couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard.

“You’re all right,” Gemma laughed, sinking down into the chair next to him. “I’m glad that he has someone like you looking out for him.”

Something warm bloomed in Louis’ chest at that. “Me too,” he shouted back to be heard over the music.

“Harry’s always been special,” Gemma said, brushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes. “But he’s worth the extra bit of effort it takes to keep up with him.”

 _Don’t I know it,_ Louis thought with a smile. Then Gemma was looping her arm around his neck and dragging him close, holding her mobile out in front of them for a photo. Louis was laughing, and Gemma’s dark eyes crinkled at the edges the same way Harry’s did, and it was a really cute picture of the two of them.

“That one’s going on Instagram,” Gemma said, tapping at the screen of her mobile with manicured fingers. She paused, looking up at him. “You don’t mind, do you? I understand if you’re trying to lie low for as long as possible.”

Louis wasn’t sure what an Instagram was, but since people had already seen photos of him he couldn’t see the harm. “I don’t mind,” he said, watching as she added the photo to some kind of website and added a caption.

“I give it five seconds before everyone freaks out about finally having a clear photo of you,” Gemma said smugly and pocketed her mobile.

Then the opening notes of _Hey Angel_ came on, and Louis barely even heard Gemma making fun of the dopey look on his face.

\-----

Just as Gemma predicted, their ‘selfie’ as she called it was all over tumblr the next day.

_Is this the same guy?????_

_OMG LOOK AT HIS EYES_

_U guys r idiots hes clearly Gemmas bf and not Harrys_

Harry and Louis were laughing at the various posts over room service breakfast. “I have to say, I’m a little uncomfortable with people assuming you’re seeing my sister,” Harry groused. “But at least they think you’re hot.”

Louis laughed, wiping the jam from his fingers before taking the iPad from Harry and scrolling through a few of the posts. “Did you see this one? Where they replaced Gemma’s face in the picture with yours?” He turned the device around to show Harry.

“That’s called Photoshop,” Harry replied. “They make all kinds of edits. I saw myself in a shower with Liam and Niall once.”

“You’re joking!” Louis giggled, turning the screen around to face him again. “I can’t believe they’re making such a big deal out of it. I’m not anyone special.” He was amazed at how many versions of his face stared up at him from tumblr: cropped to just him; black and white; lyrics to _Hey Angel_ written on top of the photo. In between were posts speculating about who he was—in general and to Harry.

By the end of the week, there seemed to be as many photos of Louis going around as there were the other band members. There were paparazzi pictures from the lunch outing he and Harry’s family had gone on, and when fans had spotted him at the second Cardiff show and took photos and videos of him and Gemma jokingly singing the lyrics to each other. There was even a blurry picture of Louis getting into one of the black SUVs meant to take One Direction back to their hotel. They still didn’t know his name, but that didn’t seem to matter.

 _Look, you’ve made the tabloids!_ Niall texted one morning, followed by a link. Harry had gotten Louis a mobile phone because it was unrealistic that he wouldn’t have one, and now he was subjected to daily texts from the lads and Gemma. Sometimes Harry would text him from across the room, which Louis didn’t quite see the point in.

Curious, Louis tapped on the link and waited for it to load. He was still getting the hang of the new technology, but he had figured out this much from using Harry’s iPad. He had to read the headline twice to make sure he saw it correctly the first time.

WHO IS HARRY STYLES’ FIT “FRIEND?” AN INSIDER TELLS ALL!

Louis scanned the article, his eyebrows climbing higher and higher the more he read. According to the ‘journalist’ who’d written it, Louis was a cousin’s friend from Cornwall who was joining Harry on tour to learn the ins and outs of the music business.

_“They’ve gotten really close,” my source revealed. “Harry really took him under his wing, and now they’re practically inseparable.” According to my insider, our mystery man hopes to work in the industry himself one day, and what better way in than to befriend Harry Styles?_

The article went on to say that whoever this supposed insider was refused to reveal Louis’ name, but the writer—Dan something-or-other—assured his readers that he’d have a name for them in the near future. At the bottom of the text was the selfie Gemma and Louis had taken in Cardiff.

_Harry isn’t the only Styles getting cosy with the blue-eyed hottie! Here he is with Harry’s older sister at a recent 1D concert._

Louis had just reached the end of the article when the shower shut off. A few minutes later, Harry emerged from the ensuite with his long hair wrapped in one towel and a second one draped haphazardly around his hips. Louis allowed himself a moment to luxuriate in the sight of all that damp, creamy skin before thrusting his mobile in Harry’s face. “I’m on the internet,” Louis said flatly.

Blinking, Harry accepted the mobile without looking at the screen. “Good job? Lou, you’ve been on the internet. I told you the wifi password when we checked in yesterday.”

“No,” Louis scoffed; he was never going to get the hang of this new technology, let alone how to talk about it. “I mean, I’m in an article. Look.”

He watched as Harry read, a variety of emotions from annoyance to amusement dancing across his face. He even rolled his eyes at one point, then finally handed the mobile back to Louis. “Well, I have to admit, that’s pretty tame for him.”

“This happens often?” Louis asked, glancing back down at the article. “People spreading lies about you?” He still couldn’t fathom why anyone even cared about his identity.

“All the time,” Harry groaned, flopping down on the bed in a way that tested the structural integrity of the knot in his towel. “Liam’s been dead a couple of times, and I think I slept with 400 women a couple years ago.”

Louis raised his eyebrows, studiously not paying attention to all the parts of Harry that were on display. “That sounds tiring.”

Harry laughed. “Tell me about it. But for some reason, people want to believe that more than the rumours that I might be gay.” He patted the bed next to him. “Don’t worry about it, Lou. Get here and give me a cuddle.”

How could Louis resist such a request from a wet, nearly naked Harry? He left his mobile on the bedside table and shucked his jeans, crawling into bed next to Harry in only a t-shirt and pants. He didn’t trust himself to be totally naked next to Harry; he was an angel, yes, but he was no saint.

“Only a few weeks left of the tour,” Harry murmured, once Louis was snugly pressed to his side. Harry let his long, slender fingers trail through Louis’ mess of chestnut hair.

“What happens after?” Louis asked, nuzzling at the pulse point beneath Harry’s left ear and inhaling the clean scent of his skin and the citrusy smell of the shampoo he liked.

Harry’s fingers stilled for a moment, like his whole body had to process for his response. “Whatever you want. Will you still be here?’

Louis propped himself up on an elbow so that he was looking down at Harry’s face. He looked warm and sleepy after his shower, his eyes drooping at the corners and his smile lax. “Why wouldn’t I still be here?”

Harry’s mouth twisted. “Wasn’t sure if you still had to look out for me when I wasn’t touring,” he said. “Or if you’d get tired of me like Daryl did.”

“I already told you, Daryl is an idiot,” Louis replied, dipping down to kiss the tip of Harry’s nose. “And you’re stuck with me for life. I’m your guardian whether you’re on tour or decide to become one of those people who sits at a desk and talks to themselves like on that show we watched.”

“ _The Office?”_ Harry laughed. “And didn’t you used to sit at a desk?”

“Yes, but I was much more professional about it.”

\-----

Louis rarely asked where they were headed to when they traveled from one city to another. What did it matter, when he mostly only saw the airport, hotel, and venue in each place? All he cared about was that he had Harry with him. The location was trivial.

He gazed idly out the window as the aeroplane began its descent. Harry was snug against his side, head lolled onto Louis’ shoulder and drooling onto his shirt. Louis had taken a sneaky selfie of the pair of them with his mobile now that Niall had shown him how to work the camera, and grinned down at the little picture on his screen. They looked like a normal human couple, despite one of them not being human and the other one being far greater than normal. It was a cute photo, though; Louis sent it to Gemma and had to laugh at the disgusted looking emoji she responded with.

A small shudder ran through the plane as it hit a pocket of turbulence. The motion jarred Louis from his thoughts and he turned his attention back to the window.

His stomach dropped just as suddenly as the plane momentarily had at what he saw. “Harry?” he asked, his voice coming out almost a croak.

“Mmm?” Harry prompted, stirring at the sound of his name.

“What city are we headed to?”

Harry lifted his head from Louis’ shoulder, a string of saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth that he sheepishly wiped away. “Ew, sorry about that. What did you ask?”

Louis could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. “I asked what city we’re about to land in.” He knew the answer before Harry even spoke. It had changed over the decades, but the river was still there. He’d recognise it anywhere, the way it wound through the city like an artery.

“Paris,” Harry replied with a sleepy smile. _“Bienvenue.”_

Louis couldn’t get out of his seat fast enough. He knew he wasn’t supposed to move around during landing, but he needed to move, to get _out_. He really needed some fresh air, but he’d have to settle for escaping to the private jet’s toilet.

There was a soft knock at the bathroom door not long after Louis had slammed it shut. He was braced against the sink, knuckles white from how hard he was clutching it, and his face and bangs were wet with the water he’d splashed on face in an attempt to calm down. He looked wild, his eyes wide and frantic, but he made himself take a shaky breath and call out, “I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Lou, it’s me,” Harry’s voice, laced with concern, called though the door. “Can I come in?”

Louis took one more deep breath, then another, and then his chest didn’t feel quite so much like it was about to rip wide open. He fumbled the lock with trembling fingers, but ultimately was able to let Harry open the door.

Harry’s face was pale; his eyes were worried and lower lip bitten red when he stepped into the small bathroom. “Louis, I am so sorry. I didn’t even think—”

“It’s fine,” Louis interrupted, flashing a smile that wasn’t fooling anybody. “I just haven’t been back here since… well. It just caught me off guard.” He reached out for Harry, pulling him in for a hug. Louis could feel himself settle as soon as Harry’s body was pressed against his, like the very atoms of him had memorised Harry’s and were comforted by his presence.

“You don’t have to stay,” Harry murmured into Louis’ ear, clutching him tightly. “We’re only here for a couple days. I’ll be fine if you need to get away.”

Louis pulled his head back to look at Harry incredulously. “Are you joking? I’m not leaving you for a second.” If anything, he’d be extra attentive while they were in France. He couldn’t have another untimely death on his hands here. He assured a sceptical Harry that he was all right, but that they probably needed to be seated before the plane landed. As it was, they were met with catcalls from Liam and Niall when they emerged from the toilet—Louis heard something about joining a club?

“We would have been in there a lot longer,” Harry snapped at his giggling bandmates, grumpily settling back down into his seat.

“What are they talking about?” Louis asked, looking from Harry’s sour expression to Niall’s ruddy face to the exaggerated kissy faces Liam was making.

“Nothing,” Harry replied, shooting them a glare. “Nothing at all.”

Louis had to admit that, besides the river, nothing of this city looked like the Paris he remembered. This one was full of shiny, tightly packed buildings, traffic and smog. It helped, somewhat, that on the surface it looked like many of the other places they’d visited on the tour. Still, Louis couldn’t wait to be safely inside a hotel room so he could attempt to forget where he was.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Harry asked, rifling through his bag. He had changed out of his traveling clothes and into pyjamas, indicating that he was planning on a night in.

“I’m fine,” Louis insisted again. “And you don’t have to sit in the room with me all night. We can go do something.”

Harry found what he was looking for and turned to face Louis, his iPad and charger in hand. “I’ve seen Paris, and a lot more recently than you have,” he said, grinning at the small smile Louis rewarded him with. “Right now there’s nothing I want more than to curl up with you and watch Netflix.”

“All right,” Louis conceded. “That sounds perfect.” And that’s exactly how Louis spent his first night back in Paris in over two hundred years: in a huge bed in a five star hotel, half watching whatever show Harry had picked out but spending much more time watching Harry. Nevermind the horrors that haunted his memory, the terrible sound of a heavy blade and the thick, metallic stench of blood; these were new memories, being comfortable and safe, surrounded by luxury and the slight whistle of Harry’s breathing when he eventually fell asleep.

Louis held him close all night, every second an unspoken apology to the girl he had failed and a promise to the boy he wouldn’t.


	4. Chapter 4

“You feeling better, Lou?” Liam asked the next day as they all clambered into the vehicle that would take them to the arena.

Louis smiled warmly as he buckled himself in; Harry’s nickname for him had quickly been adopted by the other boys. “Yeah, sorry about that. I think all this air travel finally got to me,” he lied.

Niall nodded sympathetically. “It’s hard on your body,” he agreed.

“But we’re almost finished with this go ‘round!” Liam exclaimed, punching Louis jovially on the shoulder. “A few more shows until you and Harry can disappear somewhere for awhile.”

“Not too long,” Harry chimed in. “We do have an album to start recording.”

“Long enough for a holiday!” Niall argued. “C’mon, Lou, where are you going to make our Harry take ya? Fiji? Hawaii?”

Louis listened to Niall list off tropical locales, Liam chiming in with a few here and there, but their voices blurred to background noise as he focused on Harry. Harry was looking right back at him, smiling in that lopsided, carefree way of his, and Louis felt like his own cheeks were straining with trying to keep his own smile from tearing his face in two.

“Home,” Louis said softly. “I want him to take me home.”

That shut Liam and Niall up for all of five seconds before they started alternating retching and kissing sounds, but the look of adoration in Harry’s eyes was worth all the ribbing in the universe.

With Harry’s family gone, Louis thought he’d disappear into the crowd during _Hey Angel_ again. It had been a while since he had, and he missed the sight of Harry twirling down the runway, a blur of limbs and hair and lackadaisical energy. He would never get tired of Harry leaning over the edge of the stage where Louis sat, singing his heart out to him, but tonight he wanted something more. It was a good crowd for it, too; they were full of energy and excitement, filling the arena with joyful atmosphere that reflected in the smiles of all the waiting fans.

Louis stayed in his seat through the first half of the show, right up until the song before _Hey Angel_. He tapped his security guard, Kyle, on the shoulder. “I’m feeling a little ill,” he shouted over the crowd. “Think I’ll go wait in the dressing room.”

“I’ll escort you,” Kyle said, ignoring Louis’ attempt at a protest. He walked with Louis all the way back to the dressing rooms, but agreed to go rejoin the rest of the security team after Louis was safely inside (even though Louis had no intention of staying put).

Once Kyle’s heavy footfalls disappeared back down the corridor, Louis hid himself from view and stepped back out of the dressing room. He retraced their steps back to the stage and slipped into the crowd, weaving in and out of the fans singing along with _Kiss You_. It was a fun, upbeat number, and Louis was glad no one could see him as he sashayed through the packed bodies to his favourite spot at the end of the catwalk.

Right on cue, _Kiss You_ ended and the airy opening of _Hey Angel_ started up. Louis crooned the ‘ooohs’ right along with One Direction, amusing himself by watching Harry scan the audience for him. He’d find him eventually; he always did, visible or not.

The song had come a long way since their first performance of it in Birmingham. Back then it was still young and new, the boys settling into their parts and testing out the adlibbed vocals. The crowd had been nearly silent, enraptured by the idea of hearing new music for the first time and not yet knowing the words to sing along. It had never sounded quite the same since, and never would again, but the song it had grown into was something far greater. Now it was comfortable, familiar; the boys felt confident enough with it to play around with its sound and the fans sang right along with him.

And it was all for Louis.

They had just gotten to the last chorus of _Hey Angel_ , the band making their way to the microphone stands on the small stage, when the screams around Louis shifted.

“Oh, my God,” a girl shrieked. “It’s him!” She was staring directly at him.

Louis turned a slow circle, horrified to see more and more people looking away from the stage to see what the commotion was about. They could all see him. Some were even holding their mobiles up to snap pictures.

“What’s your name?” one girl called, and another shouted, “Are you Harry’s boyfriend?” They pressed in on him, excited at being so close to someone with ties to Harry, and Louis had no idea what to do.

Luckily, the ruckus had drawn the attention of the security guards lining the stage. One of them vaulted the barrier and bodily lifted Louis to the other side, safely out of reach of the clamouring fans. He was immediately snatched up by a glaring Kyle.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Kyle demanded, already frog-marching Louis toward the backstage area, but not before Louis caught a look at the confused, disappointed look on Harry’s face as he went.

This time when Kyle deposited Louis into the dressing room, the guard stayed outside the door. “If you want to go back, I will take you,” Kyle had said before shutting the door between them. Furious at being treated like a child, Louis sat down on the sofa with a huff to wait for the end of the concert.

Which is where Harry found him when he burst through the door an hour later. It was so reminiscent of the night they met; Harry with his hair escaping his bun in sweaty tendrils, his black v-neck clinging to the hard muscle underneath. Except this time he was seeking Louis out instead of trying to send him away, and Louis felt like he’d lost the upper hand.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Harry demanded, all but slamming the door behind him.

Louis quirked an eyebrow. “You must have been talking to Kyle; he said exactly the same thing.” Harry’s stormy expression didn’t relax, so Louis sighed and continued, “Harry, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m immortal, remember?”

Harry shook his head, more locks falling from his bun. “I don’t care, Louis. You can still get hurt, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. I thought you would be more careful.”

“I was being careful,” Louis ground out. “I did the same thing I always do, but this time it wore off. I don’t know how or why.” But he did, didn’t he? All the physical contact with Harry was starting to wear down his powers. If he didn’t stop, and soon, he’d be useless if Harry were ever in danger.

Harry took a deep breath, the worried lines on his face finally easing. “I’m sorry. I was just scared, you know? I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” He sat down next to Louis, their knees touching, and Louis jerked away from the contact.

“I can take care of myself,” Louis said, ignoring the wounded look in Harry’s eyes. “I’m supposed to be guarding you, not the other way ‘round. You just need to focus on keeping yourself safe instead of spending so much time thinking about me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, his tone low and dangerous.

Louis held Harry’s gaze. “It means that I was sent here to do a job, Harry, and that I need to be allowed to do it. I’m supposed to be your protector, not your boyfriend.”

“And why can’t you be both?” Harry exploded, jumping to his feet and stalking across the room. “For fuck’s sake, Louis, we _talked_ about this! You’re the one who said it was okay!”

“Well, I was wrong!” Louis shouted, leaping up as well. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides. “If I can’t use my powers now, what happens in five years? In ten? What happens when the next stupid move you make is the one that kills you and I can’t protect you?”

“I’m not Mélite!” Harry shouted. “You can’t treat me like I’m made of glass over a two hundred year old mistake!”

Louis’ eyes flashed, a hint of the fiery countenance crammed into inferior flesh. “Do not bring her into this,” he spat.

Harry scowled at him. “You need to learn to let her go, Louis. It wasn’t your fucking fault, and it won’t be if something happens to me either. I can’t stand to see you beating yourself up over it after all this time.”

“Yeah?” Louis snorted. “And why should you care about me?”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

The aftermath of those six little words was deafening.

Louis could feel himself trembling. He swallowed hard, not daring to look away from Harry. “What did you say?” he asked, a shudder in his voice.

“I said I’m in love with you.” Harry said, softer this time. His eyes were wet with unshed tears, his body curling in on itself as he quailed under the intensity of Louis’ stare. “I’ve been in love with you for months, Lou.”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to give in to the all-too-human urge to cry. This was not how things were supposed to go. Harry was not supposed to fall in love with him, and he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Harry.

“Then you’ve been wasting your time,” Louis said, his voice emotionless and hard, “because I can’t be in love with you.”

Harry gave a little sob, and Louis’ heart shattered into a million pieces in his chest. It was the hardest lie he’d ever told, but he had to. It was for Harry’s sake as well as his own, and better to do it now before either of them got more attached than they already were.

“Get your things together,” Louis ordered, tamping down the sudden swell of emotion. “We need to get you back to the hotel.”

“Fine,” Harry replied, angrily swiping at the tears streaming down his cheeks. “I hope your powers come back soon, because I really don’t want to look at you right now.”

Harry stormed off, his words cutting deep in his wake. Louis took a deep, shaking breath, trying to ease the weight that seemed to settle on his shoulders. He tried to mask his appearance and it worked, though he couldn’t say how long it would last this time.

 _Good,_ Louis thought as he followed Harry out to the car. He didn’t particularly want to look at himself, either.

\-----

Louis followed Harry as far as the hotel, but didn’t linger in the room longer than it took to give a cursory glance around. He couldn’t bear to be in there all night watching Harry sleep, not when they’d held each other in that same bed the night before.

“Louis, can we please talk?” Harry called out, but Louis stayed hidden and kept walking. He needed to put some space between them if he had any hopes of holding on to his powers. What he really needed was to nip upstairs for a few hours to recharge, but he didn’t really feel equal to answering Zayn’s questions. Abandoning one’s post as a guardian angel was frowned upon.

He needed to get away; he needed to _think._ It wasn’t fair that he still had to keep his head on straight while his heart was shattering more and more with every aching breath. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and run straight back into Harry’s arms, to apologise and confess his love and kiss Harry until the sun came up.

That was precisely why he couldn’t. Harry was a temptation. He was the kind of person worth making mistakes for. But Louis couldn’t afford to make mistakes, and Harry deserved a guardian angel who actually did his bloody job.

There was an alcove at the end of the corridor with a few armchairs and end tables stocked with current magazines. If Louis set in the left-hand chair he had a perfect view of Harry’s door, so he settled himself down for a long night of feeling like shit.

The band was filming an advert for Coca Cola the next day, and would be on set all morning. Louis could use that time to get away for a bit, perhaps even ask for help. Zayn would know what to do, and surely he wouldn’t be too angry with Louis for coming clean. It was Louis’ first assignment in centuries; surely it was expected that he’d take a while to get back in the groove. Then again, maybe Zayn would decide he was emotionally compromised and remove Louis from Harry’s case altogether. Louis could go back to his desk, and his paperwork, and the endless stacks of case files in need of review.

It would be painful, a life without Harry; but better to sever ties now before things could get any worse.

Louis stayed out of sight on the way to where they were filming. Liam asked after Louis, and Harry made up an excuse about Louis feeling under the weather this morning. Harry looked a bit peaky himself, his face pale and dark circles ringing his red-rimmed eyes. Liam and Niall exchanged worried glances, but Harry didn’t notice; he spent the entire ride staring numbly down at his lap.

Harry was the first out of the car when they got to their destination, almost as if he could sense Louis beside him—and he very well might have—and wanted to get as far away as possible from his angel.

Stunned, Liam and Niall stayed seated, staring after their friend. “Y’think they had a row?” Niall asked.

“Probably,” Liam said, scrubbing a hand through his short brown hair. “It was bound to happen eventually. No one can be as happy all the time as them two.”

Niall chuckled. “Yeah, honeymoon must be over.” He tilted his head, a thoughtful gleam in his blue eyes. “D’you think Louis knows how many songs on this album are about him?”

 

“If he doesn’t, he will,” Liam said, bemused. “And if things are half as good as Harry makes them sound, then maybe they really are happy all the time.”

“Fuckin’ soulmates or summat,” Niall agreed, and with that they climbed out of the car and followed the path Harry had taken inside.

Louis’ heart was pounding so hard that he could feel the blood rushing in his ears. That hadn’t been a conversation he was meant to hear. But… there were more songs about him? He thought of Harry, bent over the little moleskin he always carried and scribbling away with his tongue poking out.

“What are you writing?” Louis had asked once, looking up from where he’d been playing some silly game on Harry’s iPad.

“Lyrics,” Harry answered, not bothering to look up. He was concentrating on the page before him, tapping it with his pen before crossing something out and continuing on.

Louis had rolled his eyes. “I guessed as much. What are they about?”

“Lobsters,” Harry replied seriously, before glancing up long enough to give Louis a cheeky wink, and that had been that. In hindsight Louis should have guessed that they could be about him, but one song in his honour was more than he deserved. He certainly couldn’t imagine inspiring an album full of them.

What would happen now? Would Harry try to convince the other lads to change the track list, or would he condemn himself to performing songs about Louis for the next tour? Would he grow to hate them for reminding him of what he had, or make him nostalgic for when life was a little simpler? Though, in reality, there was nothing simple about being a famous pop star who fell in love with his guardian angel.

Zayn. He needed to speak to Zayn so he could sort this mess out. Although, if Zayn decided that removing Louis from the case would be the best option, he would never see Harry again. There would be no goodbye; it wouldn’t be considered necessary. Louis would only be able to glance down on Harry from above, perhaps even catch a glimpse of him if he had a performance review to conduct nearby, but that might be even more painful than trying to forget Harry entirely.

He walked as he turned over the options in his mind. In the end, he decided, he’d do whatever was best for Harry. He wasn’t allowed to be selfish, wasn’t even meant to be capable of putting himself first. But he’d tested the limits of that theory when he kissed Harry for the first time, and he’ll spend eternity making up for it if he has to.

His feet carried him along a path of their own accord. Snippets of conversation drifted around him; the topics of conversation had changed, but the flood of French to his ears felt so painfully familiar. There were other languages thrown in now too, bits of English and Italian and Spanish and a dozen other tongues from the scores of tourists filling the sidewalks. His mind felt like it was in two places at once, somehow both transported back to the past and stuck in this strange, modern parallel. He half expected to see smoke rising into the air, to hear the clatter of hooves and the cries of a street vendor selling apples.

It took him a moment to realise where he was. The _Champs-Elysées_ , once a wide promenade, was now filled with cars and buses. The rows of elms had been replaced by horse-chestnut trees, still carefully pruned into squares, but beyond them were rows and rows of rectangular buildings that mimicked the shape of the _cabinets de verdure._

Louis swallowed hard, knowing what lay just ahead, but he couldn’t make his feet stop moving. He had to see it for himself, what the _place_ looked like today.

It was called the _Place de la Concorde_ now, he’d been told. He was surprised to see the twin buildings still standing. They had been repurposed, but just seeing them looking so much like he remembered was like a punch to the gut. The cobblestones were gone, replaced with pavement. He wondered darkly how much blood stained the soil beneath his feet; imagined it eventually bubbling up through the cracks and spreading on the concrete in a demand to be remembered. He shuddered at the image, trying to force it from his mind, but he could still hear the sickening sound of a heavy blade slamming home, of the excited murmurs of the crowds that had come out to watch with sick fascination.

The guillotine was gone, as was the platform it once stood upon. In its place was a gold-tipped obelisk covered in hieroglyphics. There was no sign at all of the horrors he had seen in that very spot, no trace of the stench of blood and fear that was once so thick in the air you could taste it.

In a way, though, it was a comfort to see the place healing itself. What once was an open wound had closed beautifully, the scar only visible to those who knew where to look for it. This Paris was worlds away from the one he’d last seen, fleeing in the middle of the night with a scared family who were running from one fate straight into another.

Louis faltered at that, his breath catching in his chest. Someone bumped into him from behind at his abrupt stop, and he distractedly realised he must have become visible again sometime during the course of his walk. His mind was spinning, the world around him going fuzzy as his thoughts narrowed down to that one, singular, point.

Mélite had been destined to die young.

It was a cruel, heartrending thought, one he had never let himself believe, but now it seemed like such an obvious answer. She would have been lead to the guillotine, or languished in a disease-ridden prison, or met a violent death in the form of street justice, because her father had been branded a traitor. Louis hadn’t been able to save her, but maybe he was never meant to after all.

It didn’t ease the guilt that wrapped itself round his heart like a cage, or the sick feeling in his stomach when he thought of how scared she had been in those awful, final moments of her life. Death was never easy, no matter how many times he’d witnessed it. However, maybe it was time for him to stop being so scared of failing that he refused to let himself succeed in the process.

He couldn’t call Zayn, not now—not when he was suddenly so certain of what he needed to do. A glance at his mobile told him he still had a couple of hours before One Direction would be finished filming, which meant Louis had exactly that long to decide what he was going to say to Harry. Because he wasn’t a failure, was he? He’d always done the best he could, and he’d taken care of a lot of humans over the centuries, and maybe this was his reward. Maybe Zayn was turning a blind eye on purpose because Louis deserved a chance at happiness.

Maybe Louis deserved Harry.

There was a fresh bounce in his step as Louis continued to relearn the city he’d grown to fear. He’d only spent fifteen years there, but they had scarred him deeply in a way that other cases never had. No life was entirely without violence, but _la Terreur_ was in a class all by itself.

The _Jardin des Tuileries_ was still there, though Louis suspected the palace was long gone, and he let himself wander aimlessly through the carefully landscaped grounds. It was full of tourists taking photos, and there was a café now instead of the small food stands once dotting the pathways. It had changed drastically over the years, but was still familiar enough that Louis could practically see Mélite’s father leading her through the garden, pointing out plants and insects. She had been so young, then, so full of wonder at the world around her. They had no idea the horrors that would befall them only a few short years later.

Louis lost himself in thought as he let muscle memory carry his body through Paris. He didn’t dare linger when he saw a building or landmark he recognised, too fearful of the painful memories the sight was sure to unleash. Maybe later, once he set things right with Harry, they could go for a stroll and face Louis’ demons together. Until then, he thought it best to keep them at bay, choosing instead to focus on the new buildings and statues and roads.

He didn’t realise where his feet were taking him until he was there. _Les Halles._ The marketplace looked nothing like the one he remembered, replaced now with sweeping metal structures and a shopping mall. The _Halle aux blés_ still stood, the wooden dome on top long since replaced by one of glass and metal, but Louis highly doubted there was so much as a kernel of corn inside its walls today.

Most of the tightly packed mass of people seemed to be making their way into the glass-canopied shopping centre or to utilise the train station, but Louis didn’t much care to take a closer look.  Instead, he chose to stay outside, watching all the people going about their lives. He thought about their guardians, wondered if any of them felt the same way he was feeling now: like he wished he had an angel of his own to turn to. Maybe he’d bring that up with Zayn when he got back. Angel group therapy sounded like just what he needed—especially given that returning to Heaven would mean Harry was gone from the earth.

Louis heard a woman cry out, jerking him from his thoughts as he looked around for the source of the noise. For a moment he couldn’t comprehend the sight before him: She was probably in her thirties, and dressed in modern clothes, but for one shining second it was like getting a glimpse of Mélite as an adult. The woman had the same dark curly hair, and big brown eyes; she could have been a relative, had Mélite’s entire family not been slaughtered.

Once the shock of her appearance wore off, however, his brain caught up with the scene he was witnessing.

The woman had her hands wrapped around the straps of her purse, trying to tug it away from a younger man in a hooded sweatshirt. It seemed he had attempted to take it from her, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight. The man grabbed her and pulled her around a corner and out of sight; no one else seemed to have noticed anything at all.

Louis dashed after them, turning the corner into a narrow side street. The man had the woman against the wall, speaking to her in a low, gruff voice.

“ _Au secours!”_ she cried, catching sight of Louis. Her voice sounded nothing like Mélite’s, yet the words echoed through the centuries and took Louis’ breath away. This was a chance for him to save someone. He wondered where the hell her angel was, and made a note to look into who was meant to be guarding her once he was back home.

The assailant followed her gaze. It was just enough of a distraction that the woman yanked her purse from his grasp, running back out toward the shopping centre on her high heels. Louis watched her go, relieved, but then a sharp pain in his abdomen sent him staggering backward.

 _“Vas te fairs foutre,”_ the man spat. He’d pulled a knife from somewhere, the blade shiny with blood, and—

 _Oh._ Louis looked down at where a red stain was rapidly spreading across the fabric of his shirt. The pain radiated out from the wound, sharper with each breath he took, and he guessed the blade had pierced some of his organs.

It wasn't concerning in the slightest. His body may have been human, but the being inside was not. He ignored the sound of the man running away; Louis dealt with protection, not justice, and the woman was safe now. He placed his hands over the steadily bleeding cut in his side, closing his eyes. One of the perks of immortality was that his wound would not kill him, but he still had the ability to feel pain and didn’t much enjoy it. He had the power to patch himself up, and though he didn’t need it often, it came in handy when he did.

Except it wasn’t working.

The skin refused to knit together, the blood continuing to pump from his body with each beat of his human heart. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, the ache in his left side nearly unbearable. This wasn’t supposed to happen—his body was just a suit, a vessel. It worked exactly like a human’s, but even injured it wasn’t supposed to stop functioning.

It wasn’t supposed to die.

Louis sank to his knees, vision swimming around the edges as his body lost more and more much-needed blood. Of course: his powers were failing. If he couldn’t even hide himself, how the hell was he supposed to heal? It was exactly what he’d feared would happen, except he never imagined he’d be the one who needed saving.

 _Harry._ God, he’d never get to tell Harry what he’d decided. He’d never get to kiss him again. Then again, perhaps Louis’ decision was what sealed his fate in the first place.

Louis fell sideways onto the pavement, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding with hands growing weaker and weaker by the second. He needed to call for help. “Zayn,” he tried weakly. “Zayn!” It wasn’t even loud enough for people beyond the side street to hear, but he hoped it was enough to grab Zayn’s attention. He hoped he had enough power left for at least that much.

“Harry,” he sobbed when his first cries went unheeded, letting his eyes drift closed. He was so tired. But he’d done well, hadn’t he? He’d saved her. He’d finally managed to save her, and now he could rest.

If this was dying, it was more peaceful than he could have hoped. In his final moments, he imagined Harry coming toward him, the same way he had so many times down the catwalk. It was broad daylight, but Harry still seemed to be silhouetted in gold by some unseen spotlight. His eyes were glowing green, turned down at the corners as if he was… sad? No, Harry should never be sad.

Dream-Harry moved closer, kneeling next to Louis and carefully scooping him up in his arms. “Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice multi-toned and layered like a hundred people whispering in unison. Louis let himself relax into the strong arms, relieved that this was the last thing he would ever see. He could only hope that all humans found such comfort in their final moments. He only wished he wasn’t getting so much blood everywhere; it was all down Harry’s arms, his clothes, even staining the snowy white feathers of his wings.

Louis closed his eyes and let go.

\-----

 

Bright lights; soft, calming voices; warmth. Louis was home.

 

\-----

Except, wait. Something was beeping. The air smelled wrong. This wasn’t Heaven at all. But where?

It felt like ages before Louis could open his eyes, and longer still before his vision cleared enough for him to take in his surroundings. He was in a bed, hooked up to a variety of machines. All the blood had been scrubbed from his skin, and his soiled clothes were replaced by a gown of some sorts.

He was in a hospital.

A glance under the blankets revealed his right side was covered in a bandage. Somehow he’d managed to get help in time, and they’d patched him up. How on Earth had he gotten all the way to the hospital, though? Had Harry really—

A soft snuffle to his left caught his attention; Harry was there, fast asleep in a chair pulled up next to Louis’ bed. He looked pale, dark circles ringing his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days. Louis wasn’t sure how long he’d been out—maybe it had been days for Harry.

“Figured it out, yet?” came a voice from across the room.

Zayn was leaning casually against the closed door of Louis’ room, his dark leather jacket and black jeans looking out of place in the sterile recovery room. He was watching Louis with a smug look on his face.

Louis grunted in pain as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, fixing Zayn with a cool stare. “It took you long enough to show up,” he muttered, watching as Zayn crossed the room and perched on the edge of Louis’ bed. “I needed your help.”

“You had help,” Zayn said with a shrug, his gaze sliding over to the sleeping form of Harry. “He hasn’t left your side for more than a minute since you got out of surgery.”

Louis turned his head to look at Harry, crammed into what must be an uncomfortable position in the chair. Someone had brought him a change of clothes, they must have, because he’d had Louis’ blood everywhere.

An image froze in Louis’ mind, one of white feathers stained red with blood.

“Harry saved me, didn’t he?”

“Louis, how much do you know about Nephilim?” Zayn asked, his tone going serious, his brown eyes sharp as they fixed on Louis.

Louis swallowed hard. He had a bad feeling about this. “I know they’re the offspring of humans and angels,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I know that they’re forbidden, and all of them are destroyed as soon as they’re born.”

“Ah,” Zayn said, tipping his head to one side. “Funny, that.”

Louis’ eyes widened as he looked from Zayn to Harry and back again. “That’s not possible,” he argued weakly, not wanting to believe it could be true. Because if so—if Harry really was born of angel blood—then there was only one fate waiting for him, and no guardian angel in the universe could prevent it.

Zayn held up a hand, effectively ending the conversation. “He’s going to sleep for a while. He needs it. I want you two to go back to the hotel and stay there. I’ll join you once Harry is awake.”

Louis’ heart was pounding, each uneven breath sending fresh waves of pain through the left side of his body. “But—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Louis,” Zayn said firmly as he stood up. “You were never here. The staff won’t remember you, and this room needs to be available for another patient.”

“I am still injured, you know,” Louis groused. “I don’t know if you recall, but I did get stabbed recently.”

“Yeah, and you’ve got yourself a ruptured diaphragm and liver to show for it,” Zayn shot back. He shook his head. “You nearly died, Louis. The doctors patched you up quite nicely, but they never should have had to in the first place.”

Louis’ eyes dropped guiltily to his blanket-covered lap. “I know,” he said meekly.

There was silence for a moment, filled only by the steady beep of the machines and the breathing of three very different beings. Zayn sighed heavily and stepped closer to the head of the bed, drawing back Louis’ blankets. He kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed them lightly against Louis’ abdomen, right where the bandages sat beneath his gown.

Just like that, the pain was gone. Louis exhaled in relief, his head falling back against the pillow. “You couldn’t have done that a bit sooner?” he joked weakly.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Stop complaining; you haven’t even been injured for a full day.” He nodded toward Harry. “Go on, go get some rest. I’ll see you soon.”

In the next blink, Zayn and the hospital room were gone, replaced by the lush surroundings of their hotel room. It seemed like it had been so long since Louis had seen it. The alarm clock on the table read 8:53 PM; less than twenty-four hours had passed. His hospital gown had been replaced by joggers and one of Harry's shirts. And Harry...

Harry was now curled up on the bed, on top of the covers. He didn’t stir when Louis climbed onto the mattress next to him and pulled him close, holding him as tight as possible while he could. If his suspicions were right, then tonight was all they had, and he’d be damned if he was going to let go of Harry for a single second. It felt so unfair knowing that he had been saved only to have to lose Harry in the end.

One Direction was meant to have a concert tonight. They must have canceled it, all for Louis. He wondered if Liam and Niall knew what was going on, what Harry had told them and how Louis would explain his miraculous recovery. Though, he supposed, once Zayn came back it wouldn’t matter anymore—there wouldn’t be any more concerts. He squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that it hurt. He had lived in worlds without Harry, and he never wanted to ever again. Especially not this soon. Especially because Harry had been discovered in the process of saving Louis.

Louis didn’t even try to keep the tears from coming, trying to cry as quietly as possible to avoid waking Harry. He pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s forehead, letting his mind wander back across the months and miles. It all made sense now—the way Harry seemed to glow onstage, how he could sense Louis’ presence, the reason he was so different than any human Louis had ever met before. Louis hadn’t been transferring his powers to Harry; he’d been awakening Harry’s own.

Angels lying with humans was forbidden; that much he knew. But what were the rules when it came to half-angels? How much holy blood ran through Harry’s veins, and was it little enough to spare his life?

It was just gone six in the morning when Harry began to wake. Louis rubbed gentle circles into Harry’s skin, selfishly trying to coax Harry into sleeping just a little longer, but then green eyes were fluttering open. They were back to normal, now, no trace of the glow Louis had seen before.

“Hey,” Louis whispered, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Harry bolted upright. “Oh, my God, you’re awake! I’ll get a nurse.” He paused, his eyes darting around the hospital room. “Erm. Louis, where is the hospital?”

“Where we left it, I suppose,” Louis said, sitting up as well. “It’s okay, Harry. I’m cured. See?” He lifted the shirt, baring his unblemished stomach. “Good as new.”

Harry’s eyes and mouth went round. “But… how?”

Louis dropped the hem of the gown. “My boss paid us a visit,” Louis explained. “Patched me right up and sent us back here.” He reached across the bed for Harry’s hand, gripping it tightly in his own. He had so much he wanted to say, to ask, but it was only a matter of time before Zayn came back. He had to make his words count. “Harry… What happened yesterday? Can you remember?”

A crease appeared in Harry’s brow, his eyebrows drawing together as he thought back. “I heard you calling for me, and next I knew I was looking down at your body.” He looked up at Louis with wide, wet eyes. “God, Lou. There was so much blood. I knew I had to get you to a doctor so I picked you up, and next thing I knew we were standing outside a hospital. I don’t know how it happened.”

“You saved my life,” Louis said. “And I’m sorry, Harry, I truly am. I love you too. I have for quite some time, I think, but I was too stupid to realise it.” A few tears spilled from Harry’s eyes, and Louis leaned in to brush them away. “Hey, now. No need for all that.”

“Sorry,” Harry laughed wetly, swiping at his eyes. “I’m just so relieved and happy, and I love you so much.” He closed the distance between them to press a warm, dry kiss to Louis’ lips. “But I thought you were immortal,” he said once they’d parted. “Why did you need my help?”

Louis fidgeted under Harry’s curious gaze, picking at a loose thread in the duvet. “I told you my powers were going. Turns out, they were too weak for me to even heal myself. At least I was able to call for help.”

“But how did I hear you?” Harry asked, almost pleading. “How did I– _teleport_ or whatever happened?

Here it was, the part of the conversation Louis had been dreading.

“Harry, do you remember when I told you that angels and humans sleeping together was forbidden?” Harry nodded slowly. “Right. Well, there are always those who disobey the rules, and there are consequences.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me?” Harry asked. His palm was growing sweaty against Louis’. “All we did was kiss. We never—”

“It isn’t about us,” Louis interrupted, furious that he was the one having to tell Harry this. “Well, it’s not about me. Harry, you asked me if my body was capable of having sex, and I told you it was. It’s also capable of reproduction.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “So, like, there are kids out there who are half angel or something?”

Louis hesitated. “Yes and no. They’re called Nephilim, and they do exist, but not for long. They’re forbidden, Harry, and they’re destroyed as soon as they’re born. Or, they’re meant to be.” He swept his eyes over Harry, watching as the other man’s face drained of colour.

“Are you saying I’m half angel?” Harry asked in a hushed voice.

“Not half, exactly.”

At the sound of a third voice, they both startled.  

“Stop sneaking up on people,” Louis snapped, scowling at the man now standing in the middle of the hotel room. “Try using a door once in a while.”

“But then I’d have to open a window,” Zayn joked, waggling his brows.

“Hold on,” Harry cut in, holding a hand out in midair and gaping at Zayn. “Are you saying that _you’re_ God?”

Zayn gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I have many names, Harry. You can call me Zayn.” Harry nearly dislocated his jaw with how quickly it fell open.

Louis sighed. “Harry, this is my boss. Boss, I assume you already know Harry.”

“Still nice to be introduced.” Zayn dropped into the armchair in the corner nearest the bed. He planted both feet flat on the floor and rested his elbows on his knees, transforming from casual to all business in the set of his shoulders. “Harry, what Louis was saying is true; you do have angel blood in your body. It’s diluted, but present.”

Harry swallowed hard. “So my mum? My sister?” he asked. “What about them?” He was worried about them, Louis realised. And wasn’t that such a Harry thing to do? Mere minutes ago he’d been told that what he was shouldn’t be allowed to exist, and he wanted to ask after his family.

“Human,” Zayn told him, and Harry visibly sagged with relief. “Angel heritage doesn’t work the same as human DNA. It’s a trait that can lie dormant for generations, passed unknowingly from human to human until one is born with the potential to unleash his powers.” Zayn inclined his head. “That’s you, Harry. You’re a bit of a rarity, I’m afraid.”

“Louis said—” Harry paused to take a breath, but there was still a tremor in his voice when he spoke. “Louis said that Nephilim were forbidden.”

Zayn nodded gravely. “They are. It’s something I take very seriously, but now and again one does slip through the cracks.” His voice was hard and cold. Across from him on the bed, Harry was nearly trembling, listening to Zayn mildly like a lamb being lead to the slaughter. It was more than Louis could take. He wasn’t just going to sit here and watch his boss and his– well, his _Harry_ have a casual chat about Harry’s impending doom. It was too cruel, too unfair, and Louis gathered every ounce of determination as he jumped to his feet, standing before Zayn with his fists clenched at his sides.

“You can’t do this, Zayn,” Louis said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. “He saved my life. He has been nothing but a good person this whole time. It’s not fair that he should be punished for some mistake a distant ancestor made.” He closed his eyes, drawing a shaky breath into lungs that felt like they were in a vice. “Please, if you have to punish someone, punish me. But please let Harry live.”

“Louis,” Harry whispered, at the same time Zayn scoffed, “Of course I’m going to let Harry live.”

Louis blinked. He wasn’t convinced he’d heard that correctly. Judging from the bewilderment on Harry’s face, neither was he. “I’m sorry?”

Zayn shook his head, chuckling to himself. “All these years and you still haven’t changed, Louis. You can’t think clearly when someone you care about is involved.” He looked over at Harry with a wide, kind smile. “I’m not here to punish anyone,” he promised sincerely.

Louis’ knees buckled and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “But… you said… _forbidden,”_ Louis tried, his brain and mouth running at two different speeds.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go around killing innocent beings,” Zayn said. “Do you really think so poorly of me?”

“Sometimes people are meant to die,” Louis said softly. “Even when they’re young or innocent. Even when it isn’t fair.”

Zayn reared back, his dark eyebrows arching. “So you’ve finally decided that what happened wasn’t your fault. It’s about bloody time.” He turned to wink at Harry. “I’ve only been trying to tell him that for a couple of centuries.”

“All right, we get it,” Louis snapped. “You’re not going to kill Harry. What are you going to do with him?” Harry looked like he might really like to know the answer to that question as well.

Zayn stood up, striding across the room to look out the window. The soft morning sunlight filtered through the glass, bathing Zayn in an otherworldly glow. He looked beautiful and terrifying, able to create in one breath and destroy in the next. “There’s a reason I gave Harry’s case to you, Louis.”

“Because you had no one else,” Louis retorted.

“Because you’re the best.” He turned, glancing at Harry before meeting Louis’ eyes. “I told you his was a special case.”

Something clicked into place in Louis’ mind. “You knew all along,” he said, realisation dawning on him as surely as the sun was rising over Paris. “You knew what he was, and you knew what I’d do.”

“Of course I did,” Zayn said easily. “Part of my plan, and all that.”

Louis narrowed his eyes, his heart beating a cadence in his chest. “You sneaky bastard,” he ground out.

“Louis, did you just swear at God?” Harry asked, scandalised.

“He did,” Zayn confirmed. “If you wait long enough, he’ll do it again.”

Louis was livid. He’d been used. He’d been a bloody pawn, Harry too, with Zayn merrily pushing them around the board. “You should have told me,” Louis insisted, glaring at his boss.

“What would it have changed?” Zayn asked. “I couldn’t have told you anymore than you could have told Harry before he’d seen it for himself. You had to learn to need someone and Harry had to love you enough to wake something in himself he didn’t even know he had.”

“So you aren’t mad about the kissing?” Harry asked timidly. He hadn’t moved from where he sat on the mattress, though now some colour had returned to his face.

“Well, it is bending the rules a bit,” Zayn said, shooting Louis a stern glance. “But it clearly produced results.”

Harry gave Louis a small, shy smile. Louis reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “So what happens now?” he asked, the pair of them turning to face Zayn as a united front.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Zayn said, “and I have another proposition for you.” He held up a hand, silencing Louis mid-groan. “Just listen for a minute before you get all fired up.”

Louis snapped his mouth shut, Zayn’s tone of voice commanding enough to make him obey without question.

Zayn shot Louis a satisfied smirk before turning his attention back to Harry. “I have to strip you of your powers. I’m sorry, but I can’t start making exceptions now, even for as good of a person as you are.”

Harry smiled and gave a little shrug. “I mean, I didn’t even know I had them until yesterday. I think I’ll manage.”

Zayn nodded, satisfied. He turned his attention to Louis. “I’m going to ask for your recommendations for a list of guardian angels for Harry. You will be removed from the position as soon as we find a suitable replacement.”

Louis felt his heart sink down into the pit of his stomach. It was exactly what he feared might happen. _At least Harry gets to live,_ he told himself, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on face. _At least Harry gets to have his life._ He would still be able to watch him from afar, and perhaps even visit if he had to review Harry’s new guardian in the future. “Yes, boss,” Louis managed around the lump in his throat.

“Good,” Zayn replied. “After that, I’m going to insist you take a long holiday.”

Louis shrank back. If he had any hopes of surviving this, of moving past the few shining months he got to have with Harry, then being on some sort of holiday—alone with his thoughts, his memories, without even work as a distraction—was the exact opposite of what he needed. At least when Mélite had died, Louis was able to throw himself into his work, learning the ropes of a new job and doing the best he could to hold himself together when it felt like the holes in his heart would never fully heal.

It would hurt to have to go back to his desk, to try and give a damn about the stack of case files inevitably waiting for him, all the while knowing that Harry was going on with his life. Louis had never had to let go of a living charge before. How was he supposed to cope with knowing that he was no longer responsible for Harry’s safety? Who was good enough to trust with so precious a thing as Harry’s life?

Louis didn’t feel like he was, but he certainly didn’t trust anyone else with it either.

Still, Zayn had spoken, and Louis knew better than to argue. He tried to keep the tremour from his voice, his chin lifted bravely as he addressed his superior. “What sort of holiday will this be, exactly?”

Zayn smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “I was thinking perhaps a permanent one.”

“Excuse me?” Louis couldn’t have heard that right. Was he being—what, _banished_ or something? Did Zayn even do that?

“You’ve worked very hard for a very long time, Louis.” Zayn took a seat next to Louis at the edge of the mattress, resting a warm palm against the skin of Louis’ trembling arm. “Everyone deserves to be rewarded for their efforts, and you’re long overdue for yours. I would have allowed you to have it much sooner,” he said, looking as sheepish as he ever did, “but I knew I’d need you this one last time.”

Louis looked at Zayn curiously, barely daring to breathe. He’d heard rumours, of course; every so often Louis would have to pull an angel’s file and move it to a ‘decommissioned’ box. The general consensus was that when you had fulfilled God’s needs, He would reward you. But there had never been any proof; the angels in question were never heard from again, and Zayn wasn’t a fan of giving straightforward answers about, well, anything.

“A reward?” Louis asked, dumbfounded. If he made a habit of sleeping, he’d think the past twenty-four hours had been some kind of strange dream. His future used to be so certain; now he had no idea what was in store for him.

Zayn nodded. “Angels, as a rule, aren’t selfish beings. I am giving you one opportunity to be completely selfish. What do you want, Louis?”

“I want to be with Harry.” Louis could hear Harry’s sharp intake of behind him. “I don’t care what form I’m in, or in what capacity, but please don’t make me leave him alone.” He felt the mattress shift as Harry moved close enough to put a hand on his shoulder.

All the while, Zayn watched on with a smug expression on his face, like he already knew exactly what Louis would want for a reward. “Then I suppose this is goodbye for now.” He stood up, extending a hand and pulling Louis to his feet. Without warning, Zayn wrapped his arms tightly around Louis, drawing him in close for a hug. They’d never touched before beyond brief squeezes or claps on the shoulder, and Louis’ senses were overwhelmed by the immensity of Zayn’s being. It was like being caught in a vortex, the world around him blurred with colours he had never seen before and couldn’t begin to describe.

As suddenly as the embrace had started, Zayn stepped back, and Louis dropped to his knees on the hotel room floor. “What did you do to me?” he asked hoarsely, tears falling unbidden down his cheeks.

“I gave you what you wanted,” Zayn said, his voice sounding muted to Louis’ ringing ears. “We’ll meet again, my friend.”

Then everything went dark.

\-----

“Louis?”

Louis was warm. Comfortable. He could feel softness beneath him, wrapped around him, pressing in on all sides. It was a stark contrast to the unrelenting ache in his skull, the insistent throb in his temples that made him not want to open his eyes, despite the familiar voice begging him to.

Where was he? Surely not in a hospital again. He thought of Zayn’s visit, of how it felt to hear that Harry was going to live. Maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe he really had bled out in that alley and this was what dying felt like.

He’d never know if he didn’t manage to open his eyes. It felt like it took ages, but eventually he parted his lids enough to see a blurry slice of the room he was in. It was their hotel room. Louis was alive, and they were still in Paris. Zayn was nowhere to be seen, and Harry…

Harry was alive. His presence was a solid weight on the other side of the mattress. How long had he been there watching over Louis? Perhaps Zayn had been wrong in taking Harry’s powers, because he would have made a damn fine guardian.

“Hey,” Harry said, his voice choked with emotion. The room was dark except for the pale glow of a small lamp across the room and the light from the street that managed to creep around the edges of the curtains. Even in the dim lighting, Louis could see that Harry was crying.

Louis extricated an arm from the cocoon of blankets that someone—Harry?—had wrapped him in. He reached for Harry’s face, missing the first time, but Harry gently caught Louis’ hand and pressed it to his cheek. “What’s all this, then?” Louis asked, wiping some of the moisture away with his thumb. His voice sounded like he’d been screaming for days, then took a shot of gravel for good measure.

“I’m just happy to see you,” Harry said, and Louis could feel the muscles beneath his palm shift with the size of Harry’s smile. “It’s nice to have you awake.”

Louis removed his palm, planting it on the bed to push himself to a sitting position, but a particularly painful throb from his head sent a wave of nausea crashing over him. “Something’s wrong with my head,” Louis groaned, collapsing back against the pillows.

“Here,” Harry said, quickly passing over a glass of water. He held out two little white pills. “Take these, they’ll help. Zayn said you might have a bit of a headache.”

“I can’t get headaches,” Louis argued, but took the pills anyway. He downed the whole glass of water in one go, the liquid seeming to repair his parched throat on the way down. Was this what thirst felt like?

“You couldn’t get headaches,” Harry said quietly.

Louis wrinkled his brow in confusion. “What?” He didn’t even realise how tightly he was holding the glass until Harry eased it from his grasp. “Harry, what are you talking about?”

Glass safely set aside, Harry moved closer to Louis, bending over him to brush a few stray hairs away from Louis’ face. “Zayn gave you what you asked for.”

It all clicked into place: The thirst, the pain in his skull, the nausea. He was feeling things he had never felt before, things that angels didn’t feel. He regarded Harry with wide, uncertain eyes, hardly daring to believe it was true. “I’m human,” he murmured.

“We both are, now,” Harry said, but that was all he had time for because Louis grabbed his face in both hands, guiding Harry’s lips down to press against his own.

They were allowed to do this now. There was no fear in the back of Louis’ mind that he was letting Zayn down, that he was letting _Harry_ down. It was replaced instead with an overwhelming need to show Harry exactly how important he was and how much he meant to Louis.

Louis pulled Harry down on top of him in the bed, aligning their bodies and delighting in the way his skin seemed electrified at every spot where they connected. He felt Harry’s erection pressing into his thigh, and he almost made himself pull away until his brain reminded him that he didn’t have to anymore. He was— _God,_ he was human, and that was going to take some time to come to terms with, but right now was about Harry and celebrating that they were both alive and together.

As it turned out, Harry was the first one to pull away. He gently separated their lips, rolling to his side. Louis followed the motion so that they were lying face to face on the bed, sharing the same air as they tried to catch their breath.

“We can take things slow,” Harry offered, reaching a hand out to run down Louis’ side. Louis’ shirt had ridden up during their kissing, and Harry’s fingertips teasingly danced over the strip of exposed skin over his hipbone. These little touches were something Louis wouldn’t have indulged in before, as each touch was that much more of a drain on his powers. Now, though, now he could touch all he wanted, could _be_ touched, and there was no consequence apart from becoming addicted to the feeling of Harry’s bare skin against his.

“I think we’ve taken it plenty slow,” Louis murmured, earning a chuckle from Harry. “I just– I don’t know what I’m doing. You’ll have to show me.” He felt shy, suddenly, his cheeks warming with a blush. He had witnessed sexual acts, sure... Had even poked fun at them with other angels. He never in a million years dreamt he’d be an active participant, and he wanted nothing more than to give Harry more than his inexperience could offer. Harry deserved nothing short of amazing, and a fumbling first time with someone who was for all intents and purposes a virgin would likely be anything but.

Harry closed the distance between them with a soft, gentle kiss, so different from the hungry ones prior. “I’ll show you,” he promised. “And trust me, Louis, you’re worth waiting a lifetime for.”

“Same to you,” Louis replied with a sly grin. “But that means more coming from me; my lifetime has been far longer.” He squealed when Harry pinched the bare skin of his hip, but was soon distracted when Harry drew their bodies close together.

There was joy in Heaven; it came in the form of fellowship, of fulfilling your intended purpose. It came from standing in the presence of God and knowing that, worthy or not, you were loved beyond measure.

Harry was still the greatest joy that Louis had ever known.

They shed their clothes piece by piece, taking the time to learn every inch of the other’s skin. Louis’ body experienced sensation much the same as it had before, but the newness of it all magnified everything tenfold. Harry kissed everywhere he could reach, eliciting sounds from Louis’ lips he would have mocked hearing from someone else. Each time Harry would stop to check in, it was all Louis could do to form coherent words. Once Harry’s hand found Louis’ cock, never before touched and now aching for it, words were off the table altogether.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispered, his words joining the breathy moans and the slick sounds of their bodies sliding together. “I love you so much.”

“Harry,” Louis moaned, too overcome to say anything more but knowing Harry got the message anyway: _I love you too._ When Harry pushed inside for the first time, it was like all the stars in the sky exploded in tandem, too brilliant and hot and consuming to comprehend, and Louis was at the very centre. If Harry was the sun, Louis would have gladly flung himself straight into his molten surface for just one moment of the sheer pleasure he felt with Harry inside him. Their bodies fit like they were made for it, matching pieces of the same set too long separated by different destinies. _“I knew I’d need you this one last time,”_ Zayn had said. Perhaps He had made Louis for Harry, and vice versa, and this was His plan all along.

All thoughts of God were banished by Harry moving in such a way that sent heat surging to every part of Louis’ body. “Harry!” he gasped, and then every intense thing he was feeling seemed to coalesce into one massive wave, cresting and then crashing over him as Harry brought him over the edge. His mind seemed to travel elsewhere, too overcome to remain in his body, and he was only dimly aware of the feeling of Harry burying himself deep and following Louis into the abyss with a strangled cry.

After, they curled together on the ruined sheets, the air smelling of sex and sweat, perspiration beading on their overheated skin. Louis felt so good, so relaxed, like anything he was worrying about was buried in the wake of his bliss. He let himself drift along on the current, Harry’s arms around him to keep him from floating away entirely, and let his brain retreat into sleep willingly for the first time in his life.

This time when he woke up, it was to a pair of bottle green eyes watching him, still half-lidded from sleep. “Hey,” Harry whispered, like the air around them was brittle and would shatter if he raised his voice. “How do you feel?”

Louis thought about it, mentally cataloguing the various messages his body was sending him. His muscles ached from being used in entirely new ways, but thanks to Zayn the stab wound was nothing more than a memory. There was a faint soreness to remind him of Harry’s presence inside him, but it was more pleasant than painful. “Good,” he said eventually, happy to find that he meant it. “I feel really, really good.”

Harry’s face split into a relieved grin. “Me too. I can’t believe this is all actually happening.”

Louis ducked his head, the sounds and sensations from the night before flickering through his head like a reel of film. “I had no idea it would be like that,” he admitted, nuzzling his nose against a dark mark on Harry’s collarbone—presumably made by Louis, though he had no specific recollection of it. “If sex is always that good, I don’t know why you lot bother putting clothes on at all.”

Harry laughed, drawing Louis in tighter. “It isn’t always that good. We’re just good together,” he said, pressing a kiss into the tangled mess of Louis’ bedhead. “We also smell a bit ripe, and I think Liam will break down the door if he doesn’t get to see you soon.”

“See me?” Louis echoed with a frown. “Why?”

“Louis,” Harry said patiently, “Last the lads knew I was calling them from a hospital room after you’d been stabbed in the belly. They care about you. I’ve texted them updates, but they still want to see you.”

It was strange, not being able to just will himself to be clean and dressed, but showering with Harry was another new and wonderful experience—even if it took a bit longer than showering alone might have, due to another round of orgasms that left Louis boneless under the warm spray of the shower.

Getting dressed was likewise a new problem. Louis no longer had a full wardrobe at his fingertips, and would have to settle for borrowing clothes from Harry until they could go out and buy him some things. Humans, he was quickly realising, needed a lot of things. Things to clean their teeth and bodies, things to wear, things to eat… His stomach gave a loud growl just as he finished pulling one of Harry’s shirts over his head.

“I think I’m hungry,” Louis announced, grabbing his rumbling stomach in wonder. “I think I need to eat.” True, he’d done a lot of eating, but it had never been a necessity before. How did humans keep their bodies going, constantly needing to refuel them with food and water?

“We’re meeting Liam and Niall for dinner,” Harry told him, slipping his feet into the very pair of boots he’d been wearing the night Louis first laid eyes on him. “I told them the knife didn’t get anything major, and that’s why you got out of the hospital so quickly.”

The restaurant was dimly lit and intimate, all dark-paneled walls and the clinking of cutlery against china. Liam and Niall were already seated in a private booth, but both leapt to their feet upon seeing Louis.

“You arsehole!” Niall hollered by way of greeting, flinging himself at Louis. “You had us worried sick!”

Liam stepped up behind him, gently prising Niall’s arms from around Louis’ neck. “Easy, Niall! He did just get _stabbed,”_ Liam chastised. He gave Louis a warm, crinkly-eyed smile. “Which is a story I’d love to hear, by the way. Harry’s been a bit scarce with the details.”

“Excuse me for being a bit preoccupied,” Harry grumbled, but went easily when Liam pulled him into a hug.

They recounted the whole tale over dinner. Well, nearly the whole tale—Louis left out the bit about thinking he was immortal, and Harry didn’t mention the part about teleporting to Louis’ rescue.

“It’s a miracle he didn’t hit anything vital,” Liam remarked, wide-eyed after listening to the story. “I bet you’re going to have a wicked scar.”

Harry and Louis exchanged a quick glance; they hadn’t even thought of a scar. Maybe Louis could ask Zayn to give him one.

“Post it on Instagram,” Niall suggested. “I did that after my knee surgery and people ate it up. I didn’t even get it from saving someone.” He sounded almost wistful about it.

“It might make up for having to delay their concerts a week,” Liam added. “Speaking of, we’re meant to leave for Germany tomorrow. You two going to be up for it? We can always push it back.”

Louis looked over at Harry, their eyes meeting. So much had changed since he’d first looked into those same eyes. He never dreamt he’d be in Paris again, had never wanted to be, and here he was enjoying the first night of the rest of his life with his lover and their friends. It was a fresh start, and while Louis could never completely forget his past, he could learn to let it fade into the background. The future seemed so bright ahead of them, full of endless possibilities and rich, wonderful years—numbered though they may be.

Harry must have been thinking the same thing, the smile on his face fond and warm and full of promise. “Yeah,” he said, not taking his eyes off Louis. “Yeah, we’re up for it.”


	5. Epilogue

Louis was finally getting the hang of this ‘human’ thing.

He and his body had come to terms with one another—he fed it when it was hungry, washed it regularly, and in return it didn’t get ill too terribly often. Which was a good thing, because never having been sick since the dawn of time apparently made one, in Harry’s words, ‘a huge baby.’

The tour had been over for a couple of months now. They had played Germany and then returned to Paris to make up for the canceled shows, though the fans didn’t seem to mind the wait at all. Once news of why the shows were postponed hit the internet, there was a deluge of support for Louis’ speedy recovery. They were happy to have a name to put to his face, even if they still wanted to know exactly who he was to Harry. There were more tabloid articles as well—they’d even managed to find the girl who Louis had rescued, and she was more than happy to recount her story for interviews.

 _“He’s my hero,”_ she had said in the article. _“An actual angel. I truly believe someone sent him to protect me.”_ The paper had listed her name, and Louis made sure to send her the biggest bouquet of flowers he could order. He may have saved her life, but in doing so forever changed his own.

Bigger changes were coming in the months ahead. The new One Direction album was finished, and during the promo tour it would eventually come out that Harry wasn’t straight or single, and once the chatter had died down it would be announced that Louis was Harry’s boyfriend.

Louis was giddy with the thought as he toweled himself off. Showers were something of a guilty pleasure for him—on the one hand, he’d lived in enough places where running water and regular bathing were similarly unheard of, and on the other they always reminded him of that first shower with Harry.

He’d had a lot of firsts since then: First time getting drunk. First hangover. First tattoo (then second, then third). First haircut and shave. First wank.

All of them paled in comparison to that first night with Harry. If possible, the sex had only gotten better since, and Louis had once attempted to convince Harry to retire so they could stay in bed until the end of their days.

That had scared Louis, at first: the knowledge that, as a human, he was going to die someday. But he knew what came next; and, if he was honest, he missed being able to talk to Zayn face-to-face. Zayn was still watching him, he knew, and had even graced Louis with the ‘wicked scar’ Niall thought he should have, but at the end of the day Louis missed the closeness they had had. They’d see each other again, though, and Louis could be content knowing that Zayn was listening if Louis needed help.

Finally dry and dressed, Louis wandered downstairs in search of Harry. Harry’s London home had quickly become theirs, and Louis had acquired his own things to put in the drawers and closets beside Harry’s. They even had matching suitcases set out, half-filled in preparation for the holiday they were leaving for at the end of the week. Jamaica. Louis had never been, and it promised to be a whole week full of new firsts for him. For them.

He found Harry curled up in his favourite chair in the lounge, music playing softly as he bent over his moleskin. The current album might have been finished, but Harry already had another’s worth of material jammed into those pages. He glanced up when he heard Louis’ feet on the hardwood, reaching up to run his fingers through his newly-cropped hair. “Hey, babe,” he said.

Louis shuddered happily. He would never get tired of hearing that. “Hey, love,” he replied, crossing the room to wrap his arms around Harry and press a kiss to his temple. “What are you working on?”

“Lyrics,” Harry replied smartly, like he always did.

Louis rolled his eyes and pulled away. “I never would have guessed. What about this time? An ode to me eyes?”

“No, turnip greens,” Harry said, sticking out his tongue before returning his attention to his notes.

Louis shook his head fondly, pressing one more kiss to Harry’s short, messy hair before wandering to the kitchen to make lunch. He was still new to cooking, but rather enjoyed it, and Harry insisted he was getting better. He hadn’t been able to resist sneaking a glance at the lyrics scrawled in Harry’s notebook, though, mulling them over in his head as he tried to imagine what the rest of the song might be like.

 _If I could fly, eh?_ he thought, chuckling to himself. It was a great start. Louis had been able to fly, once, and he’d traded it in a heartbeat for a life with Harry. He’d do it all over again too. Maybe he’d tell Harry that, maybe he could even work it into the song. For now, though, he was content to listen to the love of his life humming softly in the other room, the faint scratch of his pencil against paper. It was the only music he’d ever need for the rest of his life, and yet still he was gifted with song after beautiful song about him. Maybe he’d try his hand at it one day; attempt to put into words all the things he could never say out loud to Harry. Until then, though, he would do his best to continue showing Harry each and every day.

 _If I could fly,_ he thought, _I’d always come home to you._ That was good—maybe he should tell Harry to jot it down.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked. Louis hadn’t even heard him come into the kitchen.

Louis turned away from the cooker, looking Harry over from tip to toe. He was so beautiful, so wonderful, and Louis was lucky to get to have him. “Home,” Louis whispered, in awe of the boy in front of him. “I was thinking about home.” Because home wasn’t Heaven anymore, though it wasn’t Earth either. Home was a person; home was _Harry,_ and Louis never wanted to be without it as long as he lived.

“Here,” Harry said, handing over the moleskin. “There’s something I want you to read.”

The lyrics weren’t a perfect match, but close enough that Louis’ eyes filled with tears at the sight of them. _If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you._

Louis might not be able to fly anymore, but he would always, always return home to Harry. He knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that the feeling was mutual.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I would love to hear what you thought. Please come say hello on [tumblr](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com)! There's a rebloggable post for this fic [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/160010912111/title-my-sweetest-downfall-author).
> 
> PS: If "Only Angel" happens to work well with this fic, play it at my funeral because it will end me.


End file.
